Casalinga
by Freydris
Summary: The man whimpered as I returned from the kitchen, clutching a cheese knife, a corkscrew, and oven gloves. "Please, make yourself comfortable." I offered, taking a seat across him, "I'm terribly sorry for that rude welcome, but I don't get to threaten would-be assassins away from Tsuna that much anymore." I raised the corkscrew for emphasis. He began to sob. SIOC as Nana.
1. Prologue

Hello, my beloved website! I present to you—with pride and joy and unnecessary dramatics—my baby, Casalinga!

This newest project is the rewrite of my deleted story, "I Am Your Okaa-san!", which, pretty much, resembles this to a T, only with like, better grammar and lesser loopholes. I actually don't have much to say for the author's note, but I am placing the disclaimer here, to avoid legal trouble.

I do not own anything, except my original characters.

Other than that, I will warn the readers that I update the chapters as I write them. And shamefully, I do not write often. I also frequently get writer's block, which sucks. But, pfft, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Without further ado, then, enjoy!

**Edit:** October 22, 2014. I am revising Casalinga from the very first chapter. This action is performed due to several factors, such as my (increasingly annoying) writer's block, which, my friends have commented, is getting out of hand. I have been advised to get in touch with my baby (and by extension, Katekyo Hitman Reborn) by editing it. This may take a while, but I am not abandoning my fanfic. In fact, the next chapter (the eighth one, I believe) is already eleven pages long.

* * *

_"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."  
_

— _Albert Camus_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Prologue

"Buh-bye, Shiko-chan! Take care—oh and, good luck at school!"

Quite accidentally (because who does it on purpose, honestly?), I stumbled on my own two feet, taken aback by my mother's call.

Agh, who was I kidding? "Taken aback" was an understatement. The more appropriate turn of phrase, I believe, was "surprised beyond imagination because what the ever-loving frack!?". It deserved a follow-up statement, in the form of "the sky must be falling!".

However, I was not known to look a gift horse in the mouth. I knew that a moment—a _chance_ for a semblance of normalcy—like this one was incredibly rare, because mother did not care for me (she did not, even when she said that she did, because I have her eyes, and hers were not happy and loving), so I hurriedly turned around to give her a half-hearted wave, forcing a cheerful smile to my lips.

I faltered upon seeing that the gate had already been shut, and there was no mother waving me off. Only a big house (a house, and that was all it was, because it wasn't a _home_) stood before me. In the ensuing silence, I almost felt embarrassed, because really, _really_?

I had fallen for that cheap and rotten trick?

I was such an idiot.

Scratching my forearm uncomfortably, I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and turned around again, stubbornly ignoring the hurt pang in my chest. It raged and kicked and scratched against my ribcage, valiantly fighting to be freed in the form of anger, but if I do say so myself—I did a pretty good job keeping it down.

If I had been anybody else, I would have been able to push away the emotions and move on like it was nothing. But knowing me, that was nigh impossible.

Once upon a time, in a world far far away, I had been a person christened as Gabrielle Jarred. I had a caring family.

A family that insisted to drop me off at school, never mind the fact that I was well beyond the age of being "dropped off" at school. I had a strict, overprotective father whose answer to everything was always a "no". I had a mother who always sent me packed lunch, and played the piano for me whenever I felt miserable. I had a little brother whom I loved very dearly, despite his mischievous nature.

Once upon a time, in a world far far away, I had been loved.

According to Google search, the country of Japan was five-thousand and nineteen miles away from Canada. The two countries belonged to two different continents. They were far apart—one was located in the Western hemisphere, and the other was located in the Eastern hemisphere. The cultures of the two were also painfully diverse, when compared.

I had done my research, but the Jarred family did not exist in Canada.

Well, not _my _Jarred family, anyway.

To put it frankly—after my supposed death in the Other World (fondly labeled by yours truly, with the capital letters and all), I was reincarnated into an Other Other World (also labeled by myself). Anime shows I was intimately familiar with, like "Naruto", "Katekyo Hitman Reborn", and "Kuroko no Basuke", did not exist in the Other Other World. The "Harry Potter" series was not real.

(I know, blasphemy, right?)

Earth and the eight other planets still existed and all (Viva la Pluto!), I'm sure extra-terrestrial beings still existed somewhere out there, and the continents were very much intact, but the trivial-but-not things like anime series, books, world leaders, and celebrities were all different.

I wasn't complaining, really, but honestly, of all spirits or souls or whatever they were called, _I_ had to be the one reborn with my former memories intact?

(I was, however, secretly thankful. I clung to my old memories; the memories of my former parents and my former sibling, because I needed them—_needed them desperately_.)

A sudden blare from a BMW (or maybe the name for the vehicle was different in the Other Other World) had me scuttling off to the side of the street, surprised that I had been too caught up in my own thoughts, and even slightly angry at myself for my carelessness. What if the driver had simply decided to run me over? Then that would be another life wasted.

The car passed by, but not before the driver was able to glare and bark out a harsh reprimand. I stammered out a loud apology and bowed, not at all bothered by his actions. I deserved that admonition.

Mutually deciding that each of us had already wasted enough time, the driver and I gave each other a sharp, acknowledging nod and parted ways without another word. Much to my chagrin, I hesitated and looked back the way I came, watching the car continue along the street, and surprisingly, stop right in front of my house.

The gate opened noisily, and I scampered behind a convenient telephone post, shielding myself from view just in time. Curiosity won over my wish to avoid invading Mother's privacy, so I shoved my hand into my skirt's pocket and began rummaging over the paper bills hastily crumpled inside.

Fishing out my trusty phone, I flipped it open and held it in front of me, accordingly angling the dark screen so that the reflection of the scene stared back at me.

My mother, finely dressed in a pretty Sunday dress, shuffled out of the gate carefully, holding her favorite blue purse close to her cleavage. She looked around warily, before she fully stepped out, her glittering black stilettos stealing most of my attention. Against the dull gray of the asphalt concrete, it made her stand out remarkably.

After locking the house behind her, she turned around and greeted the driver—who had stepped out and opened the car's door for her—with an enthusiastic tongue tango, arms rising to encircle his neck. He caught her by the waist and returned her greeting.

As if electrified, I dropped my phone and pressed myself deeper against the thin post, which, I now realized, was the only pillar between my traitorous parent and me. The act would have been silly, but then, if I thought about it, it turned out that I was pathetic enough to seek physical comfort from a telephone post.

With an urgency that came out from nowhere, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and began walking again, a hand tightening around the strap of my bag.

When I felt myself trembling from anger—for me and my present father—two blocks after witnessing the encounter, I was ashamed. Acting like a part of the audience instead of that woman's own daughter was harder than I had imagined.

That day marked the beginning of the first semester for all of the schools in the district, so the streets were naturally full of the eager youth, bringing with them excited chatter and laughter. "A new preschool had opened in the area." An amused matron informed me, upon seeing my confused look as I crossed the street. That certainly explained the flood of bawling little boys and girls, and their nervous parents and guardians, to my later amusement.

I was physically twelve going on thirteen, and the middle school I had chosen to attend was conveniently found in the local area, thus I had no problem on walking everyday. My mother had insisted on an all-girls boarding school a couple of towns away, but I had shot that idea down quickly. I tended to lean towards the favor of cheap but competent facilities, and even just the thought of an expensive boarding school was enough to send me running for the hills.

Now, I knew the reason why she suggested the boarding school.

I shook the dark thought of my head and wrinkled my nose distastefully, grimacing at the anger that rose with the thought. I did not want her to further ruin my first day in school. Goodness knows she messed up enough of my life.

Second life, but whatever.

On the way, I was able to identify who went to my school and who went to the two other schools in the area. The boys all wore the same, dark gakuran, so I didn't bother to tell who was going to which school, but instead focused on the girls, who wore different sailor-style uniforms.

The girls in pink skirts went to the St. Marie's International Middle School for Girls, which was a private Catholic school for girls only. The ones wearing golden skirts went to Keiko Gakuen, a school running mainly on scholarships for sports. I was wearing an orange skirt, which meant that I studied in Satoru Middle School, the local co-ed school.

Since I was mentally older than all of my age-mates (how wrong is this sentence?), I did not feel the need to be friendly and instead kept my head down, reciting all the prime numbers from one to fifty to keep all the other thoughts away. It was bothersome, and oddly enough, lonely. A preposterous idea, it was. Me? An adult, grown-up woman? Feeling lonely?

Scoff.

Soon, the crowd started to thin out as the girls wearing pink skirts turned left, minding to stay on the sides of the street as every once in a while, an expensive car would pass by, headed towards their destination as well. The Keiko Gakuen students turned right, and the number of boys was reduced significantly. It wasn't long before I realized I was walking with my upperclassmen and my future classmates.

Deciding to extend the memorization of the prime numbers to the range of fifty and above for the sole purpose of memorizing the prime numbers within the range of fifty and above, I concentrated solely on on my polished shoes, furrowing my eyebrows.

Because of my focus, I was unable to sense the person careening towards me until it was too late. His alarmed grunt being the only warning, I looked up and we crashed into each other with a loud slam of two bodies colliding. I violently stumbled to the side, almost lurching down to my knees because of the impact, but managed to hold onto the arm of a nearby girl.

With a worried huff, she helped steady me, and after realizing that I was still holding her, I jumped away, mumbling my apologies underneath my breath. I turned to my offender, only to find him glaring at me—as if it was _my_ fault we had collided. Without meaning to, that displaced anger from awhile ago returned with a vengeance as I watched him rub his shoulder, staggering to rise.

I returned his glare tenfold (because that was very rude!), but before I could begin a fight (not that I would), he continued running, hollering an unfamiliar name. Another boy walking in front turned around, and the two greeted each other jovially.

Affronted, I collected my wits and straightened my uniform, mentally shaking my head at his lack of manners. If only I was a bit older, I would've taught him a lesson or two about respect.

Kids these days.

"Hey!" Another voice angrily shouted, and my eyebrow twitched indignantly as another person—this time the girl who had helped steady me—ran past me, a finger pointed to the boy accusingly. "Hey you!" She shouted again, her long, beautiful, red hair fluttering against the wind that picked up.

The other students paused, sensing the unfolding drama.

Left with no choice, I paused as well, quite begrudgingly against my consent. I discreetly searched for a way through the scene without catching anyone's attention, but when my search resulted with nothing, I sighed and condemned myself to witnessing something that only happened in anime shows.

The red-head was glaring at the boy viciously, her eyes alight with something hostile. For a moment I was afraid she would demand they wrestle where they stood. "That was very rude of you, you know!" She yelled, voice firm and strong, and if I were to be honest, a little shrill. "Bumping into her like that-" Wait, me? "-and not even apologizing! What did your mother teach you?!" She demanded hotly, scrunching up her nose. My mouth fell open, and a couple of the upperclassmen looked at me strangely.

The boy gave her a dull look, not minding the berating expression his friend was sending him. "I don't have parents." He replied blandly, appearing as if he was observing drying paint.

Yep. He looked _that_ bored.

The red-head faltered. "Oh. Um. Well, me too, so I guess we can kind of relate..." She mumbled, trailing off guiltily, but the long silence that followed made her bounce back pretty quickly. "But that doesn't mean you have to be mean to people!" She exclaimed hotly, bristling.

I closed my hanging jaw and stepped forward, taking her hand before the boy could say anything else. "No, no, it's fine!" I squeaked, hating how my voice broke, "Just-" I moved to drag her away, but she was valiantly resisting, "Just c-come on! The bell's going to ring soon, and we'll all be late!"

That seemed to get the crowd moving, and soon I, with the tag-along red-head, had blended in as much as possible, which to say, was not much at all. Whispers followed us as I stormed through the sea of children, my face an alarming shade of red.

As soon as we reached the gates, I tugged her into a corner, shaded by bushes taller than myself. I released my tight grip on her hand and set my own on my hips. "What were you doing?!" I demanded angrily, nostrils flaring.

The girl rubbed her wrist with a poorly hidden wince and gave me a confused look. It made me feel like I had just kicked a wet puppy and left it out under the rain to die. "I was defending your honor." She replied honestly, scratching the back of her head. "Wasn't I-wasn't I supposed to? I mean, if someone did that to me, I would be so mad-"

I cut her off. "Uh, yeah. But. Ah, you didn't have to. I was just-I wasn't expecting you to do that." I stammered, dumbfounded. Was she for real?

I could not _not_ be in an anime.

She was a red head, for one thing.

I looked down and fiddled with my fingers uncertainly, overcome by a sudden shyness unfit for a woman of my age. "T-Thank you." I whispered, risking a glance at her.

Her face was a flattering shade of pink, and she looked so pleased that the happiness was frighteningly contagious. "You're totally welcome! I'm Ito Nori." She introduced with flourish, holding out a slightly dirty hand, "You?"

I looked at this girl, this child, and felt my heart swell out in acceptance. Never mind the dirt—I was totally going to be friends with her. I reached out my own hand and grasped hers tightly, giving it a customary shake. "I am Tanaka Nadeshiko. It's nice to meet you."

* * *

I sliced through the years of middle school like knife to butter. With little effort, I kept my grades up, ranked third in class, and at the same time tried my best to help my red-head friend in struggling with her menial grades.

Throughout the years, Nori and I became the best of friends. It was an unexpected—but definitely a welcome—development. I didn't have much to complain about, however, because it was nice to have friends again; it wasn't as lonely anymore. There would even be days when I would drag out that duffel bag from below my bed—containing two days' worth of clothes and undergarments—and bunk over at her apartment, no matter how lousy and messy the place was. The tension in my house was reaching the point of Dangerous Beyond Belief.

My biological father, who was a businessman, was not stupid at all, and sooner rather than later, he found out about my mother's sordid affairs—not that she was trying to keep them secret. The formerly civil couple were now often shouting at each other at the top of their lungs, and sadly, throwing porcelain antiques at each other (what a waste of expensive china). Mother had taken to drinking until an ungodly hour, and father had filed for a divorce. I wanted to believe that at some point, those two were really in love with each other—because they seemed like sensible people, really—but it was hard to see it nowadays.

In this world, I liked my father more than I liked my mother. He was not affectionate, yes, and I rarely got to see him in my life, indeed, but he was in the level of "okay".

Of course, I told Nori about my family problems. She had responded with an unladylike snort and shook her pretty head, strands of red sticking to her pale mouth. "If that's what it's like to have parents, then I'm glad I'm an orphan." She stated dubiously, letting her head fall against her unfinished algebra homework. The opened pages were littered with problems, but she had lost interest in searching for the answers a long time ago.

There were so many times I had just wanted to cave in to temptation and tell her that no, that wasn't what having a family was like, because I had done this before, and I knew how it felt, because I've lived _another_ life, but I wisely kept my mouth sealed tightly. Nori, for all her strangeness, would think I was a madwoman.

Instead, I sighed and told her to distribute the x. She let out a defeated groan and replied with "which one?".

I was celebrating my fifteenth birthday when it happened.

I was on my way to Nori's apartment, carrying six cans of Kilmis—which was a carbonated milk drink—to celebrate with her. In my pocket was the check my father had given to me as a present, and I was hoping my best friend would come with me to the mall for some light shopping. It was already dark, sometime past seven o'clock, but I was still walking through the streets.

Nori's dingy apartment was in the poor side of town, so I was careful to watch out for muggers and rapists. I was a paranoid teenager, but there was never a thing such as "being too careful". I knew what it was like. My other life helped a lot.

Once I arrived in the compound, I greeted the snoring security guard with a sneer and worked my way up the fragile staircase, skipping over the steps which I knew were broken. On my way though, a frown had made its way to my lips. Some of the steps were missing, tiny scraps of metal left hanging behind, which meant someone unfamiliar with their brittle states had used them not too long ago. And to make matters worse, the lights were off in Nori's apartment.

She never turned those lights off, electricity bill be damned. Nori absolutely detested the dark.

Keeping my steps light, I slowed down and bit my lips nervously. What if someone had robbed her? Or touched her inappropriately? Or worse, killed her?

I shuffled closer and listened, straining to hear the low tones from the otherwise quiet building.

"Can you-can you please turn the lights on? Please? I can't-I can't stand the dark." Came Nori's faint voice. My heart clenched with anxiety.

"Tch. What a weak thing you are." An unfamiliar—but undoubtedly masculine—voice drawled back in reply, sounding frustratingly bored. "And you're supposed to be my little sister?"

"What-what are you talking about? I'm an o-orphan! I'm not related to anyone! And for God's sake, switch the lights on!"

"Shut your f-cking mouth."

"Look here, you asshat, you can't just march into someone's apartment, tie this someone into her own bed, and start spouting off nonsense-"

I kicked the door open and switched on the lights.

True to her word, Nori was tied to the bed, and a red haired man vaguely resembling her was sitting across the bed, smoking a cigarette.

I shrieked and threw one can of Kilmis at him.

It was like asking him to Kill Me.

Haha, get it? The joke just now?

No? Oh well.

* * *

Nori was the missing daughter of Asari Katsumi, the seventh generation boss of the Asari yakuza.

She was forced out of her apartment by her older brother, the red-haired man I had assaulted with the soda can that night, and was forced to move into the Asari residence. All contact to her was cut off, and she was pulled out from the third year of middle school. Much to my disbelief, nobody questioned it, but I guess that was how it was when it came to yakuza.

However, I knew exactly what yakuza was, and how it was Dangerous Beyond Belief. I had seen gore movies of nothing but death when it concerned yakuza, so I knew better than to ask and pry. Being reincarnated had its perks; my self-preservation skills hit the roof.

So I kept my thoughts to myself, and wished every night that I could talk to Nori again.

Two months later, I found a red-head in my room. Mother and father had officially separated three weeks ago, and I was living with my father's employee temporarily.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, creeping towards the bed, where she lay slumped, looking like the poster girl for misery. Someone had cut her beautiful hair.

She glanced at me, but said nothing.

I felt agitated immediately. "Hayate-san, the man who owns this house, has been very kind to me, Nori." I began coldly, staring her down. "If you're just going to bring trouble here, then-" I swallowed, and forced out out the biting words from my throat, "You better leave this instant. We don't want trouble here."

Her gaze sharpened, and she frowned at me, looking very betrayed. "I don't want trouble too!" She replied heatedly, and I stood stock still, unsure of what to say. "I don't want to be in the yakuza!" She continued angrily, gripping the meticulously arranged bedsheets below her, twisting it until it didn't look like my bed anymore.

"Be quiet." I scolded instead, because nothing came up in my brain. "You'll wake up Hayate-san."

"Is that what you're concerned about?!" She whisper-shouted, exasperated. I was pleased that she listened to me, anyway. "Nadeshiko, I don't want to go back there-" "You escaped?" "-because I don't want to be lonely!"

Something about those words struck me, and in spite of myself, I froze and listened to her ramble.

"My mother hates me, my brother hates me, my mother's apprentice hates me, heck, the whole yakuza hates me!" She hissed, eyes gaining a wet shine. She looked down at the bed and pressed her face into it. "They call me weak and bully me—frankly, they don't want me there. Nadeshiko, I don't want to-I don't want to go back. I wanna go home. Please help me." Her words were muffled by the mattress, but after years of being with her, I was able to decipher them.

Something heavy had settled in my throat, and I couldn't swallow. "I can't." I whispered into the darkness, upset. "You know I can't. Against them, I'm basically-" It hurt to admit it, but I had to, "-an ant to their boots, Nori. They're yakuza. What you're asking..." I forced myself to swallow, and it hurt. "It's impossible."

Her silence meant that she knew.

Uncomfortable with the quiet, I lowered myself to the floor and sat down, merely staring at her still form. I hated seeing her like that. Nori was vibrant, and cheerful, and full of life. She didn't deserve to look so down-trodden.

"Come with me, then."

I snapped out of my thoughts and frowned at her. "I beg your pardon?"

She hoisted herself off the bed, and gave me this determined look that was so positively Nori. She could have said that she would move mountains at that moment, and I would have believed her. Because Nori was like that.

"Come with me to the yakuza, Nadeshiko. And together, we'll take it by the storm."

Against my better judgment, I joined the Asari yakuza when I was fifteen, following the gut instinct that told me to go with Nori. I left my father a note, feeling every inch of the ungrateful daughter I was, and stopped studying, so that I could devote myself to my best friend.

Things became complicated after that.

But Nori made things a little better. She gave me a _naginata _for a late birthday present.

I turned seventeen in the year 19XX. Nori and I held a small party—just the two of us—and we spent the night looking at the stars, wondering where Orion's belt was. We fell asleep surrounded by Kilmis cans and left-over pie, outside in the yard, and woke up the next day with drawings on our faces.

The following months changed a couple of things. Several things happened at once.

Nori married Nakamura Satoru, Katsumi-sama's apprentice. Their engagement lasted two weeks, and unexpectedly, _out of nowhere, _they were married. It was like someone suddenly opened a party popper and screamed "Surprise!" for an event that did not exist. I was confused beyond belief. Because while the whole world knew that Nori was head over heels for Satoru (her missions to peek at him in the bathhouse were infamous), I, on the other hand, knew that my best friend preferred long courtships over quick romances. Had I missed some essential development to their friendship paradigm? Oh well. I didn't ask too much about it. The two were disgustingly cute. Satoru was a tsundere by heart, and Nori just loved teasing him.

Nori's older brother and the heir to the eighth generation of Asari, Hajime, was killed in a police raid. It was a great loss for the yakuza—even Nori, who didn't like him as much (because the two were tsundere siblings; Katsumi-sama insisted it came from their father's side), was upset.

That boy who bumped into me such a long long time ago, during my first day of middle school, Toshio Masahiko, was easily recruited by the police force at age seventeen, and was the one who led the raid. My former classmate killed my best friend's brother.

Small world.

Katsumi-sama stepped down, revealing a weakness we didn't even know she had, and Nori became the eighth generation Asari boss.

A year passed. Leaves fell and sprouted again. Snow fell and melted over time.

I turned eighteen. This time, the celebration included the whole yakuza. I had grown close to all of them, and I could name all of the faces I considered family, even the grunts who were actually quite decent company. We had a three-layered cake, and some pretty strong drinks, and a translated English film to watch. I fell asleep between three drunken men, and woke up with the biggest hangover ever.

Nori eventually gave birth to a beautiful baby boy with her blue eyes and Satoru's dark hair. She had carried the little bundle as if it were the holy grail, and called the child Hajime, after her older brother. Satoru didn't get a say in it.

Against most of the yakuza's wishes, my red-haired best friend approached Masahiko and started a tentative alliance. She wanted to take down everything bad and evil in the city. The yakuza was made to protect, she had said. After cutting our illegal ties and purging the yakuza, the Asari became momentarily weak, but with Nori as the boss, we grew stronger.

My best friend was changing things for the better, and I couldn't be more proud.

I turned nineteen. I was nearing twenty, and often found myself thinking along the lines of _what if. _What if I hadn't agreed with Nori? What if I had refused her offer, and continued studying like I had wanted to? I would've been making a decent living for myself or something.

I pushed those thoughts away, and never again thought about them.

I was in the Asari compound when it happened. It was a cold November, and the radio was playing a translated Celine Dione song. I was unfamiliar with it, but I found myself humming along with the English lyrics I knew by heart. I was thinking of my past life, like I often did when I was alone. I wondered how my little brother must've grown up. He must have had three children—or perhaps more, and of course he'd name one after me. He had always loved the name Pippa. Pippa Gabrielle Jarred. The name was not so bad.

While I was reading a book, I shuddered out of nowhere, and for the next few hours, I felt very uneasy. The compound was unnaturally silent that day, and only a few of us remained at home.

Satoru returned at exactly eight o'clock and told us that Nori was dead. She had been killed in a fight with another yakuza, but Asari won in the end. Masahiko arrested the enemy from what was left of the bloodshed.

The Asari compound was silent that night.

Like the dutiful best friend I was, I stayed until her funeral. And then I packed my things up, left Satoru a note, and left without looking back, bringing everything with me.

I returned to my father.

The house seemed gloomier without the flowers and the plants decorating the front, but I pushed my pride away, and rang the door bell twice.

My father opened the gate, his hair grayer than the last time I had seen him (of course, I kept constant surveillance on him) , and we looked at each other in silence, his gaze laden with surprise while mine was heavy with regret. I couldn't keep the gaze very long, and eventually looked down. He seemed shorter, more withdrawn, and tired, that I felt guilt eating away my heart.

"Did you do what you had to do?" He asked first, and I answered with a small affirmative. His face was oddly blank. "Why did you come back?" There was no accusation, no anger, just plain curiosity. I didn't know whether to be relieved or mad. Did he not care at all?

To answer him, I shrugged and forced the words out of my mouth. "My best friend is dead."

It left a bitter aftertaste in my palate.

He opened the gate a little wider, and invited me in with a sharp nod.

I exchanged letters with Katsumi-sama often. I apologized at having to leave suddenly, realizing how selfish I had been, but her replies conveyed that she understood. She had, after all, lost all of her children, she joked, but that didn't reassure me at all. In fact, I felt even lower than dirt, and was ashamed to show my face to anyone from the Asari. I politely declined all invitations to parties and reunions, and instead helped my father in his restaurant.

After some time, I asked him to change my name, and with a little help from Katsumi-sama, Tanaka Nana came to existence. I wanted to leave everything behind, and begin fresh and anew.

* * *

It was Wednesday, and it was pouring outside. The skies opened up and seemed to weep for me, but I felt it had missed its cue. Nori's funeral had been seven weeks ago, and I couldn't find it in myself to cry anymore. What's done was done. I had to move on.

The weather had been horrible all week, and most of the people in the restaurant had come in for the roof to avoid the rain. Wet clothes left droplets all over the floor and the carpet, and I had pushed my father into the kitchen before he could start yelling at the people inside and make a scene. At least, some decided to order a couple of drinks.

I was wiping a table when the bells chimed, signaling the entrance of a customer. I spared the door a disinterested glance, but quickly looked away, red creeping into my face as I noted that the man who entered was quite handsome. He was wearing a suit, and his blond hair and dark skin informed me that he worked overseas. His face, however, told me he was Japanese. He didn't seem particularly wet, and I had to wonder why.

I glanced outside. No, the rain hadn't lessened at all. Strange.

I left the table and made my way back to the counter, sending another waitress—a part-time worker named Hana—to mind him. Handsome or not, I wanted nothing to do with him. Even the way he walked screamed trouble.

I was, however, forced to approach his table when it became obvious that he was upsetting Hana, which was a big no-no for me. Fixing a disapproving look in my face, I marched up to them and asked as politely as I could.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, meeting my co-worker's eyes reassuringly.

Hana deflated, relieved at my interference, and wasted no time in telling me. "This man wants a beer, Nana-senpai!" She stage-whispered, her eyes flicking over to him worriedly. I could already see hints of her itching to flee—she had taken a step back to allow me to take over the situation.

Mentally rolling my eyes at her submission—because honestly, at times like this, women needed to step up and summon that age-old confidence that would leave men open-mouthed with arousal and not at all knowing they just catered to all of our whims—I discreetly motioned for her to make her great escape. She gave me a small, grateful smile and just about sprinted towards the kitchen.

Honestly, sometimes I worried for these people.

Shaking my head, I turned to the particularly bothersome customer, giving him a once-over. He was even more handsome up close. Nevertheless, I narrowed my eyes at him, and mustered up every drop of strictness in myself. "I'm sorry sir, but we don't serve beer here." I informed him crisply, forcing a smile into my face. "Please order something else."

He snorted and looked up from the menu, lips pursed. He looked like he just had a bad day, and a part of me felt sorry for worsening it even more. Still, he was being rude in a respectable establishment like my father's place, and unless he decided to be polite, then I would be rude to him as well. "Well, that's too ba-" He started a bit haughtily, but he did a double-take as soon as he saw me. He blinked repeatedly and observed me from head to toe, not at all bothering to hide it.

I was immediately wary, years of involvement in the yakuza telling me to stab him in the face, because that was just stupidly suspicious. I tried my best to push away the instinctive reaction to attack him. Did he recognize me as Nadeshiko?

I glanced to my left. A fork was conveniently left nearby. I could stab him and make a run for it should the need arise.

Reassured that I could defend myself, I returned my attention to him and waited patiently.

He cleared his throat and avoided looking at my face, fixing his collar as if it were choking him. "A-Ah, uhm, what would you s-suggest then, miss?" He asked, all of a sudden polite.

I squashed down the urge to hit him—because what he was doing was even more suspicious—as I took the menu from his loosened fingers and examined the contents, though I already knew the servings by heart. "Well, since you're going for a drink, then you might as well take something warm. Our coffee is good, but I personally love the hot milk. It's your choice, however." I delivered smoothly, not missing a beat.

The fork glimmered enticingly.

"I'll take it, then."

I pulled out my notebook, "The coffee, or the milk?"

"The milk."

I nodded sharply, "Anything else?"

"Your hand in marriage, perhaps?" He suggested jokingly. I gave him a funny look and strolled back to the counter, ripping the page with his order and sliding it against the cool surface of the table. "Hot milk for one. Make it quick." I told the other person across the counter. She picked the paper up wordlessly and started with the making.

I turned my attention back to Hana, who was gaping at me while wiping an empty glass. Uncomfortably, I twitched and sent her an annoyed look. "Yes?" I asked pointedly.

"That stranger just proposed to you!"

She was eavesdropping. I gave the whole restaurant a look, and everybody seemed quiet and guilty.

Everyone had been eavesdropping.

I gave them the stink-eye and waved a hand in dismissal, purposely lowering my voice. "He was joking. Geez, Hana-san, you're so sheltered." I mumbled, hating how she acted so familiar with me.

She turned red and started stammering, and ended up excusing herself to go to the bathroom. I was only too happy to let her walk away, because somehow I found her personality a bit too close and friendly for me.

A mug of hot milk slid across the counter, and I caught it without another word. Nodding to the woman across me, I straightened up and stalked towards the blond man. Forcing another polite smile into my face, I gently placed his mug of hot milk in front of him. "That would be three-hundred and fifty-five yen, sir." I murmured.

"O-Oh. Here." He handed the payment and curled two fingers around the mug's handle, a dazed look fixed on me.

"Careful." I warned off-handedly. "It's hot." And then I walked away and returned to serving the other customers.

Next Wednesday, the weather was calmer and more peaceful. There was a steady amount of customers, and business was doing well. It was nearing four of the afternoon, so we were expecting more people to come in before we'd close at seven-thirty.

The bells chimed, and I turned around to acknowledge the customer. Upon seeing who it was, I faltered. It was the blond man from the last week. He caught my gaze, and gave me a small wave and a crooked smile.

Baffled, I reluctantly waved back, before busying myself with the stacks of table napkins still waiting to be folded.

About five minutes later, Hana approached me. She ducked her head and smothered a what-seemed-like knowing smile. "Table five needs a waitress, Nana-sempai. I'll take over for you." She offered generously. I nodded, finishing an elegant Japanese fold. "Alright. Thank you, Hana-san." Sharply turning, I quickly walked to table five, notebook at the ready.

I gave the customer a close-eyed smile. "Good afternoon, may I please take your-" Upon really looking to see whom I was serving, I took a double-take. It was the blond. "-o-order? Sir."

He smiled, and I felt ridiculously warm. Fidgeting, I waited for him to speak.

"I would like the warm milk, please." He started politely, not even glancing at our menu. He said his piece with confidence that it almost seemed like he had been frequenting this restaurant for years. It was outrageous. But I felt a smile forming on my lips without my consent.

"One warm milk, coming right up." I calmly repeated for his sake, jotting down the drink he wanted. "I'll be back in a few minutes with your order, sir." I was secretly pleased by his choice, but I didn't quite know why.

When I gently lowered the mug of steaming milk in front of him, he squinted and ducked, eying my nametag. Confused, I straightened up. "Sir?"

"So your name is Nana, huh." He mumbled, also straightening. He flashed me a cute smile. "Cute."

I flushed and bowed my head. "Tanaka Nana, sir." I told him, clearing my throat. "You are?"

He grinned and offered a hand, "Sawada Iemitsu."

While taking his bigger hand into my smaller one, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was missing something very important.

* * *

I wasn't Tanaka Nana any longer. I had become—officially—Sawada Nana. Iemitsu proposed to me five months ago after our one-year relationship and we married around three months ago. He told me he was a construction worker, but I quickly identified the lie.

It was, first and foremost, a horrible lie.

The clues were all so very obvious. The first and the second time we met, he was wearing a suit that was branded. His natural blond hair—don't ask me how I knew it was natural—pointed to a foreign bloodline (Italian, guessing by the language he spoke when he was often called on the phone). His speech was accented.

The marriage was also arranged too perfectly—a construction worker couldn't come up with that much money in two months, even if he saved beforehand. A huge house was bought in a small town called Namimori. A house that couldn't be afforded so quickly, along with the furniture and the equipment that were suspiciously extravagant.

My husband was something _else_, and he obviously believed that I was the oblivious wife.

But I was going to find out, whether he liked it or not. And when I will, the two of us will be having a very long talk.

* * *

I can't believe it.

I'm in an anime show.

I'm in Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

I looked at the sleeping face of my child—a small, fragile creature no older than two weeks—and found myself melting in the inside. Sawada Tsunayoshi was a beautiful baby boy, with a small tuft of hair on his head, the same shade as mine. He resembled me so similarly that I thought I was staring at the male-version of myself.

"Hello, sweetheart." I whispered, smiling when he twitched, as if he recognized the endearment. "You have quite the life ahead of you." I told him with a small laugh, "Your mother doesn't know what to do, actually."

The baby didn't reply and only continued to breathe rhythmically. Shaking my head (just because I found out I was in an anime show didn't mean I should expect genius infants), I stood up from the rocking chair and lowered the bundle in my arms onto the crib. The door creaked open, and I smiled at Iemitsu, who beamed back.

Walking over to him, I entered his open arms and snuggled into his chest. He was taller than myself, but it must be his Italian blood.

Speaking of Italian. I sighed deeply and looked up at him, pursing my lips. "Iemitsu..." I started softly, meeting his eyes. I manipulated my lips until I was smiling with the gentleness of a harmless kitten. "Is there something important you need to tell me?" I asked quietly, tilting my head to the side.

The blond tensed, completely going still. I patiently waited for him to talk.

"I-ah-Nana, I have plans on leaving for Italy in a few years. There's a promising job overseas and..." He began uncomfortably, breaking our eye contact.

This was it. I dipped my head graciously and motioned for him to continue. "What's the job, dear?"

Much to my surprise, he didn't gesture for me to sit down so he could explain his whole mafia business. Instead, he broke out into a forced smile. "It's an office work, actually. But the pay is good and.." He rambled on, not noticing how I froze and how my smile fell.

My chest felt heavy for a moment, and I found out I couldn't breathe. I had crossed a bridge without meaning to, and Iemitsu continued on lying to me. As he would continue to do for the next years.

I contemplated the situation in silence.

Nori, what would you have done, if you were in my shoes?

I liked to think that before Iemitsu and I became a thing, we were friends first. He used to go to the restaurant every Wednesday if only to complain about his job (which he conveniently never specifically mentioned), and I had the ears to listen and the mouth to comfort him. We had been friends first, and that's how I believed that maybe, just maybe, we reached a certain point where he could tell me his secrets, like I would to him.

I shouldn't have felt so hurt. I, after all, was also hiding some things from my own husband. My past in the yakuza never came to light, and I found myself entirely grateful for that.

So when the next couple of years came and went, I told myself never to feel left out and sorry for myself, even when Iemitsu grew more distant, even when he had to leave for Italy, claiming that he was off to be a star. It was punishment for the wrongs I did, and somehow, if only a little, I wanted to redeem myself.

Iemitsu and I were a silly pair, after all. For a seemingly light-hearted, wonderful couple, the both of us held secrets that we kept from each other. The only difference was that I knew what he_ thought_ he kept from me. It was the advantage of being reborn with my old memories.

It was like a tragic love story.

And now, my son was caught in the middle of it.

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi was now six years old. It had been two years since Iemitsu had left Japan, three months since he returned and brought his boss with him (I am still not going to drop this terribly reckless affair), and again my son and I were alone.

My wedding anniversary was on January 20.

Unlike my other celebrations, which I always spent with my friends and my family, I spent my anniversary day alone.

"Otou-san bad?" Tsuna asked curiously, and I looked up from a yellowing piece of paper littered with Katsumi-sama's graceful handwriting. It was the letter where she provided a phone number, should I ever have the need to contact her. I had my father dig it up from the box under my old bed.

It was six years since I had last spoken to anyone from the Asari.

"No, Tsu-kun." I told the little brunette, wiping away the dampness of my cheeks. "Otou-san wasn't bad. It's just that-" What should I say? "Otou-san is very busy right now, and Okaa-san lets the stress get to her often." At this, I laughed hysterically, "Okaa-san shouldn't cry, now, right?"

"Kaa-san no cry!" Tsuna agreed, bobbing his head up and down furiously, and I smiled faintly, folding the letter close and tucking it away so that I could lift Tsuna onto my lap. We were in the kitchen, and I had prepared some pasta for Iemitsu's return.

Only that, he wasn't going to return this year. He was sorry, though, and that made things a little better.

"Say 'aah', Tsu-kun." I said, offering him a fork of noodles. He opened his mouth wide with a loud "Aah".

Needless to say, I spent my wedding anniversary with my son and was contented with that. I made sure to take some pictures and send it to Iemitsu, if only to spite the golden-haired man. I was allowed a little bit of hate, once in a while.

When Tsuna was fast asleep in his room, I pulled out a phone from one of our drawers.

I had three phones in the house. One was the telephone. Iemitsu had bugged that. One was a personal phone of my own. Iemitsu had bugged that too. The last was another personal phone, but Iemitsu didn't know it existed.

Taking out the letter carefully, I dialed the number and waited for an answer.

Two rings and a familiar voice answered, "Who is this?"

Katsumi-sama may be old, but she still sounded graceful and beautiful. I found myself tearing up a little. Shakily, I covered my mouth and answered as quietly as possible. "It's nice to hear your voice again, Katsumi-sama." I whispered softly, closing my eyes.

"Nadeshiko." She sounded pleasantly surprised.

I felt my chest lighten up at the name that used to be mine. "Nana now, actually." I corrected, "But Nadeshiko is fine. I still quite...like that name."

"What is the purpose of your call?"

I smiled at her straight-forwardness, "The last letter I sent to you, it mentioned a Sawada Iemitsu proposing to me, didn't it?"

"I can faintly remember."

Hiding a snort, because Katsumi-sama had a wickedly sharp and exact memory, I replied, "No doubt you did some research on him."

"Yes. We did."

The use of "we". I grimaced as I imagined the look on the faces of my ex-comrades when they found out I was marrying someone from an internationally well-known mafia famiglia, "Yes. Well. He's-"

"We know that, too."

"My son is a potential heir." I bluntly told her.

There was a long pause.

"Well sh-t."

I didn't know why, but I laughed loudly.

Sawada Nana. You are me and I am you, now. I cannot think of us as separate beings. But this, this I will tell you. I will do better with Tsunayoshi. I will not let my knowledge go to waste.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Presenting, Casalinga's first ever chapter (the last one was a prologue, y'see)! This is brought to you by an exhausted but hysterically victorious Freydris.

I (really, really) hope you guys like this one. Since there'll be like, a lot of chapters wasted on character development and some things one might consider unnecessary.

My most heart-felt thanks to all of you for the follows, favorites, and reviews! They encouraged and helped me very much! I never thought Casalinga would garner this much attention, since my writing is poor. Your support is very much appreciated.

And, here comes the disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

**Edit**: January 27, 2015. I have school and a practical exam on first aid and a video presentation tomorrow, but let's do this!

* * *

_"_Ohana means family___, family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."_

— _Lilo Pelekai_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter One

Fat, puffy, white clouds drifted up in the sky, resembling ships at sea, moving ever so slowly with a great deal of caution and grace—hardly noticeable of course—but their pure whiteness made the pink, purple, and red-stained sky seem so much more vibrant and colorful.

(Frankly, they looked like fat swabs of cotton, made even more soft and cottony.)

The soft breeze was surprisingly chilly this morning—I found it refreshing, to inhale deeply and feel cool air fill my lungs. It wasn't the 21st century yet, so the air was considerably cleaner in Japan. I liked it better that way, I decided to myself with a satisfied chuckle, tucking back a strand of dark hair behind the shell of my ear.

(The air was freaky cold.)

The heavens were colored pink and purple and blue, and for colors that clashed horribly in fashion, they surprisingly suited the sky today. A grand scene for an equally grand scheme.

(Someone spilled his paint on the sky.)

The stage was set; the characters were more than ready. The director, Destiny, was about to begin. I found myself excited.

I wouldn't start monologuing poetically for reasons other than that.

(Trust me, in the Other World, I had never been the poetic type. That sadly didn't follow through to the Other Other World.)

Early morning, the army of baby-yellow-bleeding-into-soft-pink peonies that crawled the brick walls of the Sawada residence were wet with tiny droplets of water. A bucket of browning seeds was overturned not three feet away from me, but I was only too happy to let it remain that way. It could wait, after all.

But not this. This fell under the category Too Important To Ignore.

Leaning away from the freshly cleaned mail box, I contemplated the elegant coffee-shaded paper that I held in front of me, taking care not to hold it too tightly or too carelessly. The smell of cappuccino and cream wafted through my nostrils, and other times it would have been creepy to sniff a letter, but I couldn't resist. I took a long, greedy inhale, and enjoyed myself.

He was watching me, not from afar. The Man Who Was Not sat on a vertically-challenged cherry tree that belonged to a neighbor, hidden from view. When I pretended to casually look into his general direction, like I was merely hoping to relieve the kinks of my neck, I made out two round ends of a binocular amongst the dark leaves.

I smiled airily and returned my attention to the flier.

The font of the title was a stylish cursive, and on the bottom of the page were reference websites, looking positively minuscule compared to the regular font-size twelve of the text's body, which was printed in normal, if a little formal, Japanese. A false logo was carefully placed at the top of the flier, organization name, address of the organization and all, and it was constructed to closely resemble the logo of that one facility—oh, what was it? Ah, right, LEARN Tutorial Center!—so that anyone else could mistake it easily for the well-reputed teaching association.

Huh, now that I see it this way, no wonder the other Nana was fooled so easily.

It said, "Are your children suffering from bad grades? Horrible performances at school? Lack of understanding towards their subjects? There is no need to worry, because we are offering a home-tutor to our clients, free of charge! Mr. Reborn will only need free rent and food, but other than that, he will certainly raise your kid to be the new leader of the next generation! Grade and subject don't matter!

Please contact C-L-A-M-S-X for more information. Mr. Reborn will only be available until the afternoon of..." and yada yada yada.

Turning the paper over, I hid an amused smile. It sounded like a scam. And to point out, C-L-A-M-S-X was just too mainstream and obvious. Reborn, the strongest mafioso, was laying it thick.

Like, really thick.

But perhaps he did it to scope out the limits of my knowledge when it came to mafia-related things? Maybe, maybe not. Oh well.

Folding the flier neatly into two, I twisted the sprinkler on and gathered the scattered seeds with an exaggerated sigh, knowing that every move I made was noted down. Wiping my grimy hands on the apron I wore, I stood up, complained about my back (how embarrassing), turned the sprinkler off, and entered the house, deep in thought.

While carefully shutting the door behind me, I was greeted by the sight of a pubescent boy attempting to walk down the stairs with his eyes completely shut, hands not even trying to hold on to the railings—which I was sure were made to be held on to.

My pride and joy, the apple of my eyes, He Who Has Me Wrapped Around His Little Finger (or maybe it was the other way around? Who knows?), Sawada Tsunayoshi, Tsuna for short, stretched and let out a fearsome, but poorly hidden yawn, finally finding the energy to force up his eyelids. He squinted his eyes at me, as if he was trying to figure out if I were a dream or not. His clothes were still askew, and dried drool lined the left corner of his mouth.

It was hard to believe he was already thirteen years old. It's almost as if it were only yesterday when I argued with Iemitsu about which milk solution he should feed on during his teething months.

Sighing forlornly, I strode over to him and attempted to smoothen out his bed hair with one hand, distractedly wiping at the trails of caked saliva with the other. He continued to blink at me, and in reply I giggled at the adorable image he made (he was only one-hundred and fifty-seven centimeters, after all). "Good morning, Tsuna." I greeted sweetly, beaming when his foggy gaze cleared immediately at the endearment.

Turning crimson, he batted my hands away, grumbling about his hair, never mind the fact that I was only trying to help make him look presentable. He wiped the remaining dribble from his lips with the back of his hand. "Good morning, Mom." He muttered, giving me a suspicious look as I only continued to smile. "What's gotten you so riled up?"

Smiling, I stepped back to allow him his personal space. "Oh, nothing." I chirped innocently, rolling my eyes heavenward, "Isn't the morning great? Can't a married woman simply be happy for no apparent reason?"

He groaned and rolled his eyes back at me, startling a wider smile from my lips. There was no doubt he was my son. He was a mini-me to a T. "Out with it, mom." He said crossly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "It's too early for this."

Raising an eyebrow at the long-suffering tone in his statement, I abandoned him for the dining area and dragged a single wooden chair back, not at all minding the ear-splitting screech it resulted to. I didn't sit down yet, though. "It's never too early for me and my 'this', as you refer to it, if your grades don't pick up any time soon." I told him pointedly, pulling out our favorite topic from my mental shelves.

Even though I couldn't see him, I sensed Tsuna pout. His average grades had dropped recently after the first grading exams, and while he promised to "pick them up", his marks in quizzes were still menial at best. Sensing a long, tepid argument driving into the proverbial highway, my son shuffled into the dining area and dragged out another chair for himself with a disgruntled expression.

"Mom." He began slowly.

"Tsuna." I replied in a sing-song voice, playfully propping my chin on my palm.

His eyebrows twitched, threatening to climb up. He clearly wanted to just slump down and fall asleep again, but I wasn't going to let that happen. "What are you playing at?" He asked after a very long moment.

If there were any differences between the canon-Tsuna and my Tsuna, and I emphasize "if there were any", it was his perceptiveness, and all of his other convenient abilities, like, say, his amazing cooking skills (which clearlycame from yours truly). Nana was closer to Tsuna this time around—I made sure of that too, repeatedly, on several occasions. I had all of thirteen years to weave bonds together, and believe me, I weaved like a maniac, pulling threads tight together until it was nigh impossible to tear them apart.

Call me what you will: manipulative, Machiavellian, or just plain selfish because of my actions, and I'd hate to say this, but it was for the better.

I was confident that not much was different with my Tsuna. His extraordinary 'senses' (which, between the both of us, we called his Sixth Sense) were developed earlier to his advantage, and he was quicker, faster, if only a bit more clumsy than canon-Tsuna. Before, I was so frightened that I might change him completely. Tsuna needed to be Tsuna—the whole story would turn upside down if that was not the case—but so far, so good.

I brought out the neatly folded flier from my pocket, and presented it to him with flourish. "Ta-da!" I exclaimed, dark eyes twinkling mischievously, "A home tutor!"

He scanned the paper with a critical eye (for someone who just awoke, at least) gave the logo the most skeptical look of the century, pulling his head slightly away, as if disgusted, and then answered with the flattest "no" any thirteen-year old boy could deadpan from this side of Japan.

The smile not slipping, I finally sat down, and asked him to pass me the miso soup. I put down the flier, keeping it in his line of vision. "You don't exactly have a choice, dear." I told him patiently. "It's time you learn your place." I continued, and added quickly, realizing I had sounded too dictatorial, "And your lessons."

He passed me the soup with steady hands, but shook his head. "I really don't want a home tutor, mom."

I nodded understandingly. "Me too, sweetheart," I blew out heavily, furrowing my eyebrows, "but I really want to try if a home tutor can help you."

There was silence for a while, the only sounds being the clacks of the chopsticks against the plates, so I swallowed down my food and cleared my throat, thinking of another way to ease him up to the idea. I needed him to be willing. His unwillingness had only made things more difficult for him in the manga.

"Okay, how about this," I began slowly and thoughtfully, meetings his eyes, "if your grades improve immediately after we try the home tutor, then we'll let him go. If not, then, well,"

He plucked the flier from the table's surface and read it again, eyes flicking right to left, top to bottom. After a moment, he shrugged uncertainly. "I dunno." He slurred, staring soulfully at his soup, "Doesn't the ad seem a bit suspicious to you?" He showed it to me.

I pretended to examine the piece of paper again, deliberately making my scrutiny slow and thorough. "It's the LEARN Tutorial Center, isn't it?" I asked off-handedly, glancing up at him through thick eyelashes. "I don't see anything wrong with this at all. Aren't the tutors there known for coming from big universities?"

Tsuna let out a forbearing sigh, looking for all the world as if he were speaking to an idiot. I gave him an offended look. "Look at the logo, mom." He gestured one hand to the upper right corner of the flier. "One of my classmates attends the center, and he brings around a portfolio with their logo in front, so don't ask how I know the stuff. While I do agree that the logo in this ad is smooth and professional, the official logo-"

I gave out a sigh of my own and motioned for him to stop with a manicured hand. "Sawada Tsunayoshi." I began firmly, effectively spooking him, because he knew things were serious when I used his full name, "We are going to get you a home tutor whether you like it or not."

"What's the point of even asking my opinion if you're going to just ignore it and go with your own decisions in the end?" He complained sullenly under his breath, glaring at his plate.

My fingers twitched. "Care to repeat that?" I asked sharply.

He straightened and cleared his throat, biting his bottom lip nervously. "Uhm, uh, I said that, uh, I'm not good at anything, mom." He lied, poking his fingers together.

I frowned. At the lie, or the insecurity he put behind it, I didn't really know. Why not both? "Oh Tsuna."

He shrunk and nodded glumly, flushing in embarrassment. "Err, sorry. I'll, I'll try to work with the home tutor, Mom. But if he does one thing wrong, I swear to God-"

My smile returned with full force. "Alright." I accepted brightly, content. He wasn't going to be a spoiled brat about the whole fiasco. That was good. Very good. "Give the tutor a chance, Tsuna." I tried gently, emphasizing my point by waving my chopsticks at him. "I'm sure you'll get along well." I reassured.

That was the biggest lie I uttered since I had—repeatedly—assured Iemitsu that my father liked him just fine, but in a unique way, Tsuna and Reborn were totally best friends. Partners-in-crime. Literally.

Without my meaning to, I recalled a fanfic from the Other World, and beat myself up with self-disgust and mortification a second later, ducking my head down to hide the shameful blush that rose to my cheeks. Tsuna was my son, for God's sake! Ugh. Ew. And, and, Reborn, was like, older than even me!

Animation did wonders for the looks, I grumbled to myself mentally, curling my lips to a sneer. Ugh. What a wrong, wrong, bad image to think, Nana!

I shook the dirty thoughts out of my head and shakily reminded Tsuna that on the weekend we visit his grandfather, so that we could move on to other topics.

At the mention of my old man, Tsuna brightened and began firing question after question.

The sun shone brightly outside, and all was well.

* * *

I bid Tsuna goodbye and watched until his slowly shrinking figure disappeared into a dot on the horizon, wondering worriedly if Reborn would assault him on his way to school, or if the hitman would continue observing the brunette until the end of the day. Calmly pretending to doze off, I stared at the mafioso's direction and frowned when I saw no signs of the Man Who Was Not.

Sighing, I closed the screeching gate and reentered the now quiet house. I had prepared for this for more than a decade, yet I was still hopelessly lost.

About two hours later, when the wall clock's long hand was somewhere between one and two and its short hand drifting slightly past nine, I watched the funny television show featuring an armful of ordinary people entering a series of challenges in a castle (1), like I did every morning. This day's episode was more entertaining than usual, so I was caught off-guard when the phone suddenly rang.

Annoyed, I fiddled with the remote control to lower the television's volume, and then painstakingly stretched until I was able to pick up the phone. Ripping it up, I pressed the speaker against my ear, pinning the receiver down with my chin. "Hello?" I greeted politely, smacking the remote repeatedly when it refused to work.

"Nana?"

The husky, almost raspy I-have-a-sore-throat-but-instead-of-sounding-like-a-frog-like-Nana-does-I-instead-sound-deliciously-sexy voice made me smile.

"Iemitsu!" I cheered happily, almost letting the phone slip down to the floor. "Wow, and you finally remember to call your lonely wife." I teased slyly, giving up on the blasted remote. I would simply have to raise my voice to drown out the host's raucous laughter.

"I call you every week, dear." He chuckled warmly from the other line, and I imagined him sitting behind his huge desk, filing paperwork for mafia missions and the like. Shaking my head, I responded with a muffled, "Not nearly enough. And you know that wasn't what I meant." I gave a little perverted giggle.

"Nana-!" He choked.

"I was just teasing you, dear. I'm a lonely housewife, you know, there are very little things that entertain me nowadays." I laughed, laughing just a little more when two of the players slid down a sumo wrestler's stomach, and face first into his crotch. "How carnal." I commented out loud.

"..I-I beg your pardon?"

"No no no, not you." I corrected him hurriedly, startled he would assume I was addressing him. The two of us had abdicated from physical pleasures for about four years now. It was worrying—his reaction, I mean, not the, uh, abdication. "Takeshi's Castle (2) is showing today, you see." I explained.

Iemitsu sounded torn between relieved and disappointed. "Oh."

A sudden thought struck me, and my lips stretched into a big smirk. "Oh my, were you expecting something else, husband-o-mine?"

"Nana!" Iemitsu scolded.

"Your vocabulary is limited to my name." I stated coyly, "I admire your dedication to me."

There was a loud, but fond sigh from the other end. "Good God, woman, just-ah, stop teasing me, will ya? I swear, ya get more and more playful after every phone call."

"Nah." I denied, ignoring the urge to crack a dirty joke. I couldn't help it, my husband was always tempting me with his wrongly-timed words. "Today is just a good day for me." I continued nonchalantly, tossing my head back, "But I guess you're right, too. I'm getting bolder and bolder by the second."

Never mind, it seemed like I couldn't ignore the urge at all.

For a split second, I took my lips away from the receiver and cackled to myself childishly.

"Ack!"

"Sorry, not sorry." I wheezed, wiping away the happy tears after I had laughed so hard. "Man, oh, man, you're just so easy, Iemitsu." I breathed in shakily and cackled some more. Finally, when I was calm enough, I decided to spare him the embarrassment and changed the topic, "But on to more serious matters, Tsuna and I are fine. We'll be visiting Otou-san this weekend."

"Oh?" I could hear the relief in his tone. "I hope he's fine."

I snorted and glanced at the TV. "Of course he is." I chattered to the phone, rolling my eyes. "Old age isn't enough to kill off that man." I mumbled, smiling fondly despite my gruff words. I cradled the phone closer to my ear and shifted into a more comfortable position. I liked moments like these. Gag-inducing flirting aside, all of these little things kept me grounded and confident in myself.

"How's Tsuna? Is he still mad I couldn't come home again?" Iemitsu asked worriedly.

I raised both my eyebrows. "Should I lie?"

"...No?"

"Then yes, but only a little. He's used to it." A second later, I regretted my words, belatedly realizing the in-depth meaning behind them. Iemitsu was flooding the lines with his guilt, impossible as it may sound. It was an awful, stomach-churning feeling.

Iemitsu sighed. "I'm so sorry, Nana, but you know-"

"I know," I cut him off hurriedly, trying to placate him. "No, honestly," I continued, when his only response was dubious silence, "I know, no, _we_ know. It's alright, really."

"Oh, Nana," he heaved a great and tired sigh, "you know it's not."

I frowned, and parted my lips. I changed my mind after a second, and shut my jaw with a loud snap. Finally, I smiled a small sad smile, and leaned back on the couch. "I'm not gonna lie to you, dear." I said, closing my eyes. "It's not. It's hard, here, on our own. Tsuna doesn't have a father-figure, and he's only going to accept my excuses until so long. I," I took a deep breath, "I can't do this on my own, Iemitsu."

We were silent for five minutes. Maybe more. His phone bill was going to be ridiculously expensive, a part of me worried. "I'm sorry." He finally moaned.

I shrugged, and opened my eyes again. "'S okay." I told him, eying the ceiling. I dragged my gaze downwards and concentrated on the television screen. "We'll get through this somehow. I'm awesome like that.

"Yeah," he agreed softly.

"Yeah." I said too.

The both of us were ridiculously depressing, and it was only nine o'clock in the morning. One, in his case.

"Eh, let's change the topic," I invited, dispelling the sorrowful atmosphere, "I don't want my favorite husband to die of sadness at one o'clock in the morning. By the way. You should be sleeping." I berated. "If only I were there."

"I'm your only husband, Nana." He laughed tightly, so I focused more on removing that tension from his voice. I began mulling over recent events in my life, and talked.

"You know, I saw this really interesting flier this morning. It was in our mail box. A heaven-sent, really." There was a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line, but I pretended not to hear it. "Um, I'm thinking of hiring a home tutor for Tsuna. There's really no payment, since all they're asking for is free room and board."

Removing the tension from his voice, eh?

Whoop-de-fricking-do. I was horrible at it.

"Oh really? That's, well, great." Iemitsu replied tersely.

I fought back a smile. "You don't sound too happy." I pointed out dryly, wiggling my pedicured toes. "Tsuna says it's suspicious, so naturally, I'm asking my greatest advisor if it's okay, before I pass my judgment and condemn Tsuna to a lifelong torture." Funnily, I was almost speaking the truth. Iemitsu found this very funny, so he guffawed—a loud bellow that warmed my heart. Releasing the smile, I crossed my arms and stretched my feet, splaying my legs awkwardly against the carpet.

The blond man, after he had stopped his barking laughter (oh, how ironic), at last relaxed, and seemed to shrug when he said, "Well, it's not a bad idea, for one. I received the copy of his card with that e-mail you sent me. He's been neglecting his History."

"I know, right?" I groaned wistfully, running my fingers through my hair. "But, in his defense, his History teacher _has_ been absent from class for long periods of time. I'm worried about that old geezer. Tsuna tells me that Kagami-sensei's back has been bothering him for some time now."

"Kagami-sensei? Wasn't he the pre-school teacher from Tsuna's younger days?"

I smiled. "Almost. That was his son."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." I echoed delightedly. "So, am I getting your stamp of approval?"

"You don't really need it, you know."

"Yeeaah," I drawled. "Formalities, and all that."

"Nana!" He scolded.

I chuckled. "Here we go again—Iemitsu, honestly, love, we're going in circles. Tsuna, by the way, is as happy as can be expected about this arrangement."

My husband snorted, and I pictured him rolling his eyes. "That boy's too obsessed with helping you out and making sure you don't hurt yourself."

"He should pay more attention to himself, and less to me." I justified sternly, "Iemitsu, he's a growing boy. In fact, he's almost out of his boyhood! His world shouldn't be revolved around making me happy; that's _your_ job! I'm worried sick about his life! I can count, with one hand, his friends, and I don't want him to grow up lonely!"

"Have you been bottling this up?"

I smirked. "I was going to rant about it last week, but I got distracted complaining about the rising prices in the market."

"...Nana?"

"Yes, Iemitsu?"

"I love you and Tsuna, do you know that?"

The smirk melted into a warm smile. "I know that, Iemitsu." I sang.

"Well, I'm telling you again. No matter what happens, I love the both of you. No matter what happens. Remember that." He stated seriously.

I felt my chest become heavy with an indescribable emotion. Nodding helplessly, even though he can't see it, I whispered into the receiver, "We love you too, dear."

He coughed awkwardly after a few seconds of silence, "Well, uh, I have to continue signing these papers now."

"But it's one in the morning!" I protested exasperatedly, throwing my hands up in the air. "Look at what happens to you four years without me at your side—you become a workaholic! The next time you come back, I swear to God you'll never leave our bed."

"No fair. What will I do then?" He whined.

"Why, me, of course."

I waited for him to get the dirty joke. After he began spluttering, completely red-faced, I pursed my lips and slammed the remote on the table. When I pressed down on the volume button again, the sounds notably decreased. I grinned victoriously. "I should contact the center now. Good bye, Iemitsu. I love you. Be careful there."

"Alright, darling. You be careful too." He said meaningfully, voice still holding tremors from the embarrassed spluttering. I took pity on him—he was trying so hard to send hidden meanings to me, even though he knew I wouldn't "get" them.

My expression softening, I uttered a small 'we will' before hanging up.

* * *

The hours soon ticked away, and before I even knew it, Tsuna was already back from school.

Like always, he returned with his uniform soiled and filthy, stained with dirt and dust, his hair even messier than it was early in the morning, parading around with a couple of bruises on his face. I felt the familiar rush of hot white anger that always came up at the sight of my own child nursing wounds he received from school, which he shouldn't have, but I squashed down the impulsive feeling to stab someone so that I could rush to him in greeting.

I was surprised to see, however, that as he clambered into the house tiredly, his eyes were narrowed suspiciously, and he locked the doors behind him quickly. Sparing me a small, crooked smile, he shut all of the windows downstairs and upstairs, and through muffled words informed me that he was taking a hot shower first.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I nodded with great motherly concern, knowing better than to contradict him. With a frown, I moved to shut the curtains, and finished our dinner, utterly silent.

When Tsuna rushed down the stairs, he had a couple of bandages on his face, but he was clean and smiling.

I offered him a small smile of my own and softly stroked his forehead. "You should have let me help you wrap those up." I chastised, motioning to the bandages, "Tsuna, I think you should let me call the principal about th-"

"No!" He cut in swiftly, shaking his head, "Let it be, Mom. I can handle them."

I gave him a flat look and pointedly flicked his bandaged cheek. When he flinched away, I scowled. "Do you call that 'handling', Tsuna?" I demanded, taking a seat in front of the dining table, "I don't like seeing my son return from school all beaten up!"

He gave me a wounded look. "It's not like I want to return from school all beaten up too, Mom." He grumbled, pulling out a chair and collapsing upon it, "Please pass me the soup."

I passed him the soup. "Don't give me that rude tone, young man!" I scolded, but there wasn't any actual anger in my words. It was only more of heated-ness. "Are you going to let this go on?"

He accepted the bowl of soup and poured some for himself, grunting in disagreement, "Of course not." He mumbled, giving me a brief look that translated to, "Mom, are you crazy?"

"I am in the process of figuring out a way to get past them."

I sighed and got some fish for myself, "Is it half-way done?"

A small upward quirk of his lips drowned away some of my worries. "More than half-way done, Mom." He stated with a proud nod of his fluffy head, "I can guarantee that by tomorrow, I won't be going home with bruises on my bruises."

I picked up my chopsticks and gave him another flat look. "You shouldn't be going home with bruises on your bruises in the first place." I muttered lowly, taking a bite from the rice balls, "I can't believe children these days. Back in my time, the-"

"-strong protected the weak and helped them become stronger." Tsuna finished, nodding wisely.

I gave him a funny look, because woah, where did that sage-like moment come from all of a sudden?

He turned red, and defensively crossed his arms against his chest. "What?" He stammered, unable to meet my eyes. "Hajime-nii-san repeats that to me around ten times whenever he comes by, however rarely that is, and it gets awkward all the time! And the manga he draws has that around every fifty pages!"

I smiled thoughtfully. "Manga, eh? So that's what you've been hiding under your bed." I remarked casually, "Golden Dreams Gakuen, isn't it?"

Tsuna keened. "I-It's not shoujo." He denied weakly, covering his face in shame.

I shrugged. "At least it's not porn." I consoled him.

He chocked on air. "M-Mom!" He exclaimed shrilly, face beginning to resemble a very ripe tomato.

I only laughed. "You may look like me, but you certainly talk like your Dad."

"Dad always ends up scolding you using your name?"

"He did so, around twice or more from the telephone conversation this morning." I informed him honestly, shrugging again. "Apparently it's hereditary."

After a few more minutes of eating calmly (while Tsuna avoided my knowing gaze intently), I finally remembered to ask him why he shut the windows.

His expression became serious, and he put down his plate warily. "It's the Silly Sixth Sense, Mom." He started ominously, using the name for the, as he had called it, silly term we used to call his Hyper Intuition. "I've been getting the feeling that I'm being watched."

Ah. Reborn. Right.

My face pinched into one of irritation, before I quickly masked it into a worried one, "Should I call the police?"

A strange look crossed Tsuna's face, "I, uh, don't think so?"

I made a strange face of my own. "Why do you sound unsure?" I asked, picking up the empty plates and depositing them carefully on the sink. I turned on the faucet and reached for the dish-washing liquid.

"I'm not, well, certain if it's dangerous." Tsuna started with a tight expression. "It kinda is, but it's also not." He continued, bewildered. "I'm getting confusing signals here." He admitted with an annoyed huff, slumping limply on the table's surface.

I smiled and mentally thanked the fact that my back was turned to him. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I sang.

"Why not both?" He grumbled.

I chuckled and turned to him, smiling sweetly. "Sleep on it. Tell me what you think tomorrow." I advised him, winking when he huffed again and sent me the most sullen look I've received since Iemitsu realized just what his overseas job entailed for our nonexistent libidos. "Go finish your homework-" There was a loud groan, "-and go to sleep. Your home tutor's arriving around noon tomorrow, so you better be ready."

He shut his eyes and continued to sulk. "So soon?" He moaned.

My eyebrow twitched, and I imagined the many ways Reborn's introduction could go. The results ranged from Tsuna's untimely demise to Tsuna's untimely demise. Hopeless. "Remember your manners tomorrow, young man." I warned him. "Be polite. Stranger or not, this person will be living with us for the next few months until your grades improve."

"Right, Mom." He mumbled, slinking away. "You told Dad about this?"

"Yup." I answered, popping the word out. "He sends his love, by the way."

There was a long pause, Tsuna seemingly realizing how cornered he was. "Are you sure you can clean up on your own?" He finally asked weakly, "Do you need help?"

I chuckled and shooed him away. "No procrastinating, Tsuna." I shot his hopes down and gestured upstairs. "Go on."

"Darn. My plan is foiled." Grinning crookedly, he half-heartedly obeyed, reciting out loud his class schedule for the next day.

I contemplated the events that would happen sooner or later. Reborn would arrive hours earlier than expected, and he would accompany my son to school. How should I go about treating him?

I breathed out deeply and cleared my thoughts. I would cross that bridge when I got there.

* * *

"Is that steak I smell?" Tsuna asked excitedly, skipping down the stairs the following morning.

It was a terrible mistake. No sooner after those words left his lips, he bent his toe and toppled downwards with an alarmed shout.

I listened to the bangs and clangs with a wince. Worriedly, I poked my head out of the kitchen. "Tsuna, are you alright?" I called out.

"I-I'm-I'm fine Mom! No need to worry!" He shouted back, rising slowly to his feet.

Not really believing him, I returned to serving our breakfast on the table. I fixed the table napkins and the bowls with a careful eye, knowing it was best to impress.

Surveying the dishes, I bit my lip and lightly scolded myself. I, maybe, had prepared a tad too much food.

Hopefully no one would notic-

"Good morning, my dearest, most wonderful, ethereal mother! I sense that you've made some steak for your favorite, and only, by the way, son-woah! What's the occasion?" Tsuna asked in wonder, examining our table. "Are you planning to destroy the table through sheer size of food alone?" Awed, he eyed the resilient table legs that quivered with the effort to hold up the weight of heavy plates and bowls.

Darn. What was I thinking?

Masking my panic, I turned to him and gave him an amused look. "Why are you so bright and happy this morning?" I asked, avoiding his question with the grace of an actress. Discreetly, I began moving plates into the refrigerator—I would just reheat them later in the microwave.

His response came in the form of a beautiful smile. I think my heart stopped.

When Tsuna smiled, it was truly a good thing. I felt myself grow excited, because this was it. This was really it. Oh my God.

"Today is a good day, I guess." He replied happily, cocking his head to the side. "I think it's the steak." He commented semi-seriously, grinning.

I tittered and sat down, motioning for him to do so as well. "It's definitely the steak." I agreed ominously, gesturing to the plate of sauce-drizzled meat, "Dig in. You have a whole day ahead of you. I expect no bruises on your bruises later on, young man."

He nodded slowly, settling down and taking a whole slab of steak for himself. "No bruises on my bruises." He repeated, and then added as an afterthought. "If my plan works."

"Ciaossu."

"Ungh!"

Snapping my neck to the side so quickly I swore I almost broke it, I stared at the small figure in my kitchen, mouth falling open in surprise. My hands had jerked, and I found myself awkwardly raising my chopsticks as if they were weapons.

(Which they could be, but let's not go into detail.)

Reborn—_the_ Reborn—stood in front of Tsuna, dark, expensive fedora and all, with Leon the small green chame_leon_ (oh, OH) perched upon his small hat. A pacifier hung around his neck and rested proudly against his chest. His suitcase leaned against the wall not too far away from him, and he, ultimately, without a doubt, looked like the poster boy for innocence and destruction combined.

There are moments when something unexpected happens, and the response is quick and merciless. Trained as I was to act first, think later, I still found myself freezing up like I had stared Medusa in the eyes. The feeling of seeing him was exhilarating. I had not sensed him at all.

One second he wasn't there, and the next he _was_.

Reborn was good.

A bit awed, I stared for a few moments, before removing the surprised look from my face and replacing it with one of unadulterated uncertainty. His presence in my kitchen, on my sparkling floor, not only solidified the fact that an anime series had become my life (uh-oh, not good, not good at all!), but also that woah, holy sh-t, this was it! Everything that was going to happen was going to happen, and if not, then I had to make sure they did, or else said holy sh-t was going to hit the fan.

Stilling my trembling hands, I shot Tsuna a placating look (he had jumped back and was looking very close to hyperventilating) and turned to the hitman, intentionally pitching my voice soft and sweet, like most adults did when speaking to children. "Oh? How did you get in here, sweetie?" I asked him, rising from my seat. "Where are you parents?"

Tsuna rose as well, his expression wild but guarded. "Mom." He started sharply, his earlier good mood dissipating. "Don't go near him. He's dangerous." He warned.

I fixed Tsuna an incredulous look. "Tsuna, he's a child!" I exclaimed, not that he need me to say that, thank you very much. "I'm sure he's only lost-"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am."

I was going to push it, I thought determinedly, screaming at my facial muscles to remain up. "My, how polite!" I exclaimed, clasping my hands together with a strained smile.

The blank expression did not leave the hitman's face. "I am Reborn, the home tutor you hired."

How would a normal person usually react to these things?

"R-really?" I stammered, taken aback by the blunt proclamation.

Tsuna remained unnaturally still. The small infant continued on talking, as if the events unfolding at that very moment were not unorthodox at all. Yeah, because obviously, babies in suits were of the norm here.

I mean, I get it, we're Japan, but seriously, people? Seriously?

"I arrived five hours early, but as a service, I will evaluate Sawada Tsunayoshi now." He informed me, assessing my rapidly paling form. He turned his small head to Tsuna, who shivered as the attention fell on him. "I assume you're Tsunayoshi?"

Tsuna nodded reluctantly. "Ts-Tsuna, actually." He corrected bravely. At the sharp look from the infant, he curled in on himself but still said, "I, I prefer it."

The Man Who Was Not seemed to take a note of this, before he snapped his head and stared up at me. "May we have a room to ourselves, ma'am?" Reborn asked politely.

I shakily pointed to the living room.

Curtly, the hitman nodded again, and he walked into the living room without any further ado. Meeting Tsuna's questioning gaze, I silently motioned for him to follow the smaller person. Wordlessly, he obeyed.

As the last hints of Tsuna disappeared into the other room, I collapsed back onto my chair, exhaling a breath one pant short of hyperventilating.

So it has begun, Vongola.

A part of me still laughed hysterically at the picture of an infant in a suit.

* * *

I looked up from the now cold food when Tsuna finally exited the living room, Reborn in tow. Unconsciously, I straightened up and tilted my head to the side, almost leaning in to see what had transpired between the two.

(Not _that_ kind of "transpired", you perverts.)

Tsuna's expression was unreadable, and though I was scared to admit it, he appeared decades older than how he should have. The sight was like a punch to the gut—I felt breathless, but in a bad way. It was like the Kilmis incident all over again.

"Tsuna?" I started, voice wavering as I half-rose out of my chair.

My voice seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. He blinked and looked up sharply, brown eyebrows furrowing, knotting down, and allowing me a glimpse of what would be wrinkles in the far future. His huge, doe-like eyes narrowed, and immediately he glanced at the hitman by his side, as if hesitating, calculating. Finally, his heavy gaze rested on me.

A sad glint flickered in his brown eyes, before he offered me a crooked smile, resolve steeling. He took a deep breath, and released it in one swift gust. "Mom, this is Reborn," he said, gesturing to the silent, watching infant, "He's going to stay with us for some time."

Putting on an artsy baffled look of complete befuddlement, I returned his smile, albeit weakly and cluelessly. "Really?" I croaked.

Tsuna bobbed his head twice. "Yeah. He showed me his credentials, the paperwork, and proof. The office," he paused and looked vaguely uncomfortable, "err, the office even called in to confirm it. And, Dad has approved, as you told me earlier. Reborn is a genius."

I forced out a surprised chuckle, and as if a string released from its tautness, the tense atmosphere began to fade. "A genius infant?" I repeated, sitting back down. I placed my hands on my lap, and gripped the fabric of my dress tightly, glad that everything chest down was hidden by the dining table from direct view. "No offense, Reborn-kun, but that sounds ridiculous. Remarkable, however." I made sure to sound awed. "You have quite the future ahead of you."

Reborn tipped his dark fedora down. "No offense taken, ma'am. It's understandable, and, thank you." He replied smoothly, lying like it was first nature. "I am going to perform my duties and tutor Tsuna accordingly, as you had hired me for. I hope my age and appearance will not serve as an obstacle between myself and our goals."

I shook my head kindly, trying not to blatantly startle at the multiple threats hidden in that one statement. It was difficult not to tense up and pull all my guards up as well when it was Reborn talking. He put me on a nasty edge. "I don't mind at all, Reborn-kun." I replied warmly, gentling my smile. "And please, don't sound too serious and formal. We are all family here." I told him. "Take a seat." I invited. "I'll bring out another plate for you."

"Thank you, Sawada-san."

I stood up and took out a bowl from one of the many cabinets. "Call me Mama, Reborn-kun." I called half-heartedly, recalling that one detail from the original manga. "I haven't been called Sawada-san in a long time. That's my husband, Iemitsu."

There was surprised silence for a moment, before the Arcobaleno relented and offered a hybrid of a smirk and a smile. "As you wish, Mama."

When I turned back around, motioning with my free hand for the two boys to take a seat, I directed a winning and encouraging smile to Tsuna, who watched the scene with far too protective eyes. Mentally, I wished him a good luck. He needed it.

"Let's eat, no?"

* * *

(1) and (2): Takeshi's Castle is a real thing. It was aired in my country's local channels a few years ago, so I just thought to cameo it here. So, nope, it doesn't belong to me.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Ta-da! The second chapter is here! (Please don't kill me for updating late. I'm a snail-uploader.)

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize.

**Edit**: January 27, 2015. Here I am. At six o'clock in the morning. I haven't updated the eleven-page chapter nine (or so) in four—almost five—months. School's steam-rolling me into the flattest pancake ever. I apologize. I only have time to edit now.

* * *

"_There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure."_

_― Paulo Coelho,**The Alchemist**_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Two

LIAR.

COWARD.

"Nana, will you be my girlfriend?"

"I, um, beg your pardon?"

Sobs.

LIAR.

COWARD.

"Nadeshiko, you're such a spoilsport."

"I am not going to peek on the men's onsen with you, Nori! Not even if you pay me—well, maybe if you pay me,"

I can hear sobs.

LIAR.

COWARD.

"Gabrielle, wake up."

"It's the weekend, Mom! Please let me sleep in!"

Who was crying?

LIAR.

COWARD.

YOU.

Stop. Please.

"M-Mom," Tsuna sobbed.

My son was crying. My son was _crying_.

An inhuman shriek left my mouth. The world was warped black and blue and crimson, like age-old play-dough. "Who did this!?" I roared, trembling with barely restrained fury. Like I balloon, I seemed to inflate as I towered over his tiny, tiny shaking body, shadow lengthening. "Who did this to my child?" I clutched a knife in one hand, ready to destroy worlds just to make him happy again.

You did, a voice admitted.

"You did, Mom." Tsuna whispered, staring at me soulfully.

Without hesitation, I brought down the knife to my own abdomen, and began hacking away as if my life depended on it. Skin split and gave way for the blade, and blood spilled out in succeeding waves. My insides: intestines, organs, bones—everything was ripped out, and I tortured myself with the agony.

How could I have done this? How could I have done that to my own little boy?

How?

"I'm sorry, baby." I cried, reaching into my own mutilated stomach. Fingers brushing over the lungs, I pulled out my heart and crawled towards him, offering it up. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Forgive Mommy, please?"

"You lied to me." He took the beating blood-pumper and threw it to the ground. I screeched and tackled him, clawing at his face. "You lied to me!" He continued screaming, trying to kick me off.

LIAR.

COWARD.

I bolted upright in bed, a silent scream escaping my lips. Shakily, I threw the thick quilt blanket off my form and stumbled out of the master's bedroom (which was originally meant for two, but was now only occupied by one), breathing heavily despite my conscious efforts to keep quiet.

Blindly, I slid down the stairs, bumping into walls and desks and all of the furniture that were in my way, not unlike Tsuna during bad mornings, until I finally reached my destination: the kitchen. Taking the nearest empty glass, and avoiding the direction of the cooking knives, I ripped the refrigerator open and grappled for a pitcher of cold water.

I tried to ignore my trembling hands as I poured the freezing liquid into the glass, rapidly blinking away the last tendrils of sleep, and by default the shaky memories of the nightmare. My distress soon faded into inky blotches in the back of my mind, but I couldn't shake off the horrifying feeling that frightened me and followed me even to the waking world.

God. Whatever that nightmare was, it had been beyond terrifying.

The chair I dragged back scraped noisily against the polished tiles, probably waking even my neighbor with its shrill sound. I didn't mind it. Instead, I collapsed upon it like a corpse, lifeless. I fell silent.

The only other sounds in the room were rough, guttural sobs, but I didn't know where they came from.

Cradling my head limply on one hand, I contemplated the glass of untouched water with dull, drooping eyes.

Faint footsteps came from the staircase. "Ngh, M-Mom? Tha' you?"

I sighed and folded over the table, closing my tired eyes. I recognized the high-strung tenor. "Go away, Tsuna." I mumbled into the wooden surface, exhaling a sigh through my nose.

"Phew. I thought it was a thief." He put down the bat he had probably retrieved beforehand, and drifted over to the archway connecting the kitchen to the hallway, footsteps light against the icy tiles. "Mom, are you okay?" He asked sleepily, "Should I call the hospital or something?"

I heard him draw nearer, hissing some inaudible words to air. I wondered whom he was talking to. I couldn't really think. My mind was disgustingly blank at the moment.

"Go back to sleep, Tsunayoshi." I sighed, tightening my hold on the cold glass. Condensed droplets had begun to form all around it. I should probably drink from it some time soon. "I'm just, uh, turning into an insomniac. And, you have school tomorrow." I recoiled when when his face entered my line of vision.

He took one look at me, blanched, and fled into the living room.

I groaned loudly and glared at the glass, disoriented.

It was the water's fault. Obviously.

"Come on, come on Dad, pick up, pick up, pick up your damn phon—Dad! Yes! Yes, yes, I'm aware that it's the two in the morning here—what? No, I don't need money, why would I call you for money in the middle of the night?! That can't even reach Japan in acceptable rates—no. No, listen to me. Seriously—Dad!" There was a disgruntled pause. "I can't believe he hung up on me." Tsuna dialed again. "Dad! Don't hang up! It's Mom! Yes! Finally, you listen to me! She looks terrible, I don't know what's wrong—what do you mean, 'don't freak out'? How can I not freak out when she's freaking out? She's shaking! Yes, I'd appreciate it if you do."

A phone was shoved next to my ear and I accepted it, wet fingers slicking over the cool surface of the object. "Heelllo?" I asked, before I twisted around and glared at Tsuna, "Back to bed, you stubborn boy!"

He gave me a familiar look—the one that I gave him earlier, and I was amazed at how much we resembled each other––and stomped back up the stairs, shaking his head.

I returned my attention back to the little communication device. "Heeelllooo." I repeated.

"Nana? Are you alright?"

I entertained the idea of pouring the water over the phone. "Yes." I lied dispassionately, bobbing my head (even though he couldn't see it). "I'm fine. Tsuna's just being over-dramatic. It was just a bad dream."

I could feel Iemitsu frowning from all the way to Italy. "You don't react well to bad dreams." He grouched.

What did he know about me, anyway? Practically nothing.

I scoffed. "That was befooore." I shot back with an impatient click of my tongue, intently staring at the glass of water which I haven't drunk from yet. "I may have developed an immunity to them for the past few years." I suggested lowly.

His tone was incredibly dry when he answered. "I highly doubt that."

I slammed the glass down––when had I raised it? Darn, I was about to drink the water too!—and emitted a sort of high-pitched squawk of rage. "You were not here for the past few years, Iemitsu!" I snarled, "Don't you dare use that tone on me."

"Right, right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I'm not really in the mood to talk." I told him after a long disquieted sigh, "Call again tomorrow, okay?" I half-heartedly waited for his dejected reply of confirmation before hanging up and lumbering over into the living room. I groped around for the light switch before giving up and blindly walking towards where I thought the phone should be returned.

I climbed back up the stairs, en route to my own room, but hesitated as I passed by Tsuna's room. The door was shut firmly close. However, I could hear muffled voices talking in hushed murmurs. My eyebrows furrowed.

Whom was he talking to–

_Reborn_. A small voice from the back of my mind chided exasperatedly, and I shook myself, appalled that I had forgotten someone so important.

Biting my lip, I thought deeply. Finally, my shoulders slumped down, and I rapped my knuckles against the door's fading varnish. Pausing a beat in the pretense of waiting for a reply, I grasped the knob and twisted it to the side with a strong push, opening the door. As I shyly poked my head in, I saw Tsuna watch me expectantly from his bed, the very picture of boyish attempts at innocence, and across him was a cot of some sort, which I knew was definitely not there this morning. Reborn watched me with a detached look of interest.

I smiled apologetically. "Sorry about earlier, son." I told Tsuna sincerely, meeting his eyes. "I didn't mean to snap."

"It's okay, Mom," Tsuna reassured, frowning at me, "You should get some sleep. I'm not some sensitive sissy."

I giggled. "Sure. Could've fooled me." I teased lightly, flicking my eyes heavenwards.

Retreating, I gently shut the door (ignoring his affronted look, and Reborn's snickers), and headed for my original destination. The room smelled of sweat and distress. Wrinkling my nose in classic distaste, I pulled out an old laptop case from below the bed, and opened up a primitive version of the a Word office. I fell asleep in the middle of typing a steamy scene between two men, coming up with the cheesiest lines and horrible similes.

* * *

I woke up to the house's fire alarm. To say the least, the shrill sound was very annoying—from a scale of one to ten, ten being the most, it probably ranked a solid twelve. I blinked at the screen in front of me, unseeing, before it all came rushing back, and I huffed at my own stupidity.

I deleted every word I wrote—a complete and utter waste of two-thousand words—and shut the laptop down, scribbling a reminder to recharge it on a post-it note. I splashed some freezing tap water onto my face, ran a brush through my short hair several times just to untangle the knots, and finally got up to check why the fire alarm sounded in the first place.

I turned to the kitchen, paused, and blinked uncomprehendingly at the scene I found myself intruding into.

Reborn, in all his forty centimeter glory, sat on one of the seats, casually reading the morning paper. At my arrival, which he probably expected the moment I jolted to the world of the waking, he looked up and tipped his fedora down in greeting, as he usually did. "Good morning, Mama," he greeted, "How was your sleep?"

I smiled a strained smile at the inquiry. "Good morning to you too, Reborn-kun!" I chirped. "I slept just fine, thank you for your concern."

The alarm abruptly died, and I took the time to survey the kitchen. No wrecked stoves or smoking toasters, what possibly could have–

I stopped at the sight of Tsuna in his pajamas. The boy was staring at a vibrating coffee maker—I'm pretty sure coffee makers weren't supposed to vibrate that badly—morosely.

Seeing as he hadn't acknowledged my presence yet, I scraped a chair back and sat on it, eyes turning to the infant tutor in askance. "Care to explain what's going on?"

Reborn slowly blinked. "I am teaching him how to make proper coffee." He explained monotonously, raising a steaming mug of dark liquid for emphasis.

"He learns quickly." He added after a while.

I took a moment to mentally digest that. "Coffee could not be good for someone so young." I told him worriedly, voice sounding faint and far away, playing my part. In reply, Reborn shrugged his diminutive shoulders and took a long, hearty sip from his mug, as if to prove just how much he cared about my opinion towards his drinking habits.

Which, I guessed dryly, was worth jacksh-t.

Making good effort to continue the conversation, I clasped my hands together, and pretended not to notice the dark sludge that had dried between the tile-cracks. I would have to scrub that off later. "I'm glad, though! My son works best under pressure, so I'm happy you've found a way to make him grow out of that bad habit," I commented happily.

Tsuna snorted in disbelief, apparently disagreeing, but one glance from Reborn had him staring at the coffee maker again with great trepidation.

I smiled another strained smile, and asked Reborn if I could borrow the newspaper after he was finished with it.

Since when did we have subscriptions for newspapers, anyway?

I shook my head exasperatedly. We were hardly into the first twenty-four hours of the Daily Arc, and yet things were already spiraling quickly out of my control. It would start with the little things, but sooner or later...

I cursed the mafia, and its nasty tendency to ruin people's lives.

Standing up, I walked over to the refrigerator and checked its contents. There was nothing else to do but go with the flow, and pretend that everything was fine.

We had beef, and chicken, and hot dogs. I would have to buy fish later, maybe throw in some eggs and vegetables. The thought of making soup was vaguely appealing. "I'm glad that the both of you get along so well." I sighed.

Tearing another post-it note from its bundle beside the fridge, I picked up a discarded pen that was conveniently in my reach and listed down my what-to-buys and what-to-dos for the day. Once again, I pretended not to notice Tsuna's snort (which was soon followed by a suspicious thwangand sullen silence), and Reborn's narrowed, searching gaze.

"Mom," Tsuna began all of a sudden, "Can we have milk fish today?"

I frowned, and tore my attention away from my growing to-do list. "I'm sorry, kid, but we don't exactly have fish right now." Was it just coincidence that he was asking for that one ingredient absent from my refrigerator to get me out of the house?

After a short, awkward moment, I decided to take the bait. What the heck. It was high time for me to give the boy some of his freedom, anyway.

"Well, I _could_ go to the wet market," I suggested thoughtfully, words dissolving into mutters. His brown eyes bore into me impatiently. Thinking I had pretended to mutter long enough, I feigned a casual searching look for the wall clock and asked, "What time is it?"

"It's barely five in the morning." Tsuna replied a little too quickly.

I thought about it. Was this a part of the manga? Or the anime? I couldn't recall Tsuna driving Nana out of the house so early in the series. Frankly, I couldn't even remember him driving Nana out of the house, period. What was going on?

Was I forgetting something? Something important? Or was this a new unprecedented thing?

"I could go now, if you really want me to get some fish for you." I stated dubiously, crossing my arms against my chest. I reminisced the other times I could recall heading to the market this early in the morning, and estimated the time. "It's only a fifteen-minute walk, after all," I added, puckering my lips, "Thirty, tops, to and from. And I am itching for green shells."

Tsuna's face instantly brightened excitedly, before it—just as quickly—crumbled into a pained grimace, like he had just shoved a lemon into his mouth. I blinked twice, dumbfounded by his attitude.

I couldn't recall being that hot-cold-hot when I was about his age. In both lives.

The brunette bit his upper lip, and for a moment resembled a piranha. "Ne, you don't really have to go if you don't want to,"

Wasn't he the one just suggesting that I leave the house?

Pursing my lips, I rolled my eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, Tsunayoshi!" I cut in swiftly, sarcastically smiling, "It's okay. A mother has to fulfill her son's needs."

He rolled his eyes as well and flapped his arm in complaint like a little duckling. I laughed and half-heartedly listened to what he had to say. "Mom, you make it sound like I'm pregnant, or something." He grumbled, cheeks flushing. From the corner of my eyes, I noticed the strangely silent Arcobaleno follow our conversation intently.

I rolled my shoulders, rotating the joints and flexing the muscles to hide the unease, and added a jubilant grin in for good measure. "Why would pregnancy be such a bad thing?" I asked, feigning offense at his crude remark. "Remember, boy, I carried you in my uterus for eight and a half months!"

Reborn, inserting with careful small talk, piped up, "Eight and a half?"

I turned to him and patted my stomach cheerfully. "Tsuna was a premature baby. That's why he's small for his age. I had been quite worried, you know, but he turned out quite fine."

"Better than fine, Mom," Tsuna grouched.

"Better than fine," I amended apologetically, "So, as I was saying," I gave a sharp glance to Tsuna, who ducked his head, "What's so bad about pregnancy? It's a natural thing. You didn't see me laughing when you were circumcised, Tsunayoshi."

"That's because you were laughing behind my back." The brunette replied stubbornly. After a short pause, he added sourly, "And that has nothing to do with pregnancy,"

"I think we both would agree that they were both very painful personal experiences." I told him, grinning. "And I hadn't—laughed at you, that is," I answered honestly, recalling what had happened when he was twelve. Truth be told, I had sobbed and had been very terrified about the whole ordeal, more so than Tsunayoshi who had only looked slightly sick and pale.

I was a girl in both lives—I never had to go through circumcision. I hadn't known what to do, what to expect, what to know, and what little things I did know I only received from muted whispers and gossips with the other mothers from his school. Iemitsu had been suspiciously absent during those very essential times I needed him.

Returning my attention to the conversation, I took a glance at Reborn, and saw that he seemed amused. I dropped the act and smiled at Tsuna.

"This conversation is totally unrelated to the fish thing," he pointed out.

I laughed. "Alright, alright, maa, Tsu-kun, you're really craving for fish today, hmm?" I crossed my arms and rested my cheek on one hand, "Let me retrieve my wallet, and I'll be out of your hair." I began to head back upstairs, "Be a dear and start on the rice for me?"

Tsuna nodded and began rifling the drawers for the measuring cup. "How much will we have?"

"Make it four cups today," I decided after doing the math. Half a cup of rice for me, one and a half for Tsuna, another cup for his lunch, and one cup for Reborn. That would do it.

Once I collected the money, an umbrella, and a bag, I shouted my leaving and made quick work for the market.

* * *

On my way, I cheerfully greeted the townspeople I recognized, and made sure to nod to the unfamiliar ones I accidentally made eye contact with. It didn't hurt to be nice to everyone—someone had to be, after all.

Milk fish wasn't exactly a challenge to find; not when I've been shopping in the same place without fail for the last fourteen years. A few turns and twists, and some excessive thinking because there were two places that would give me good deals, and I finally got the fish, and like I promised myself, some green shells. Before I even knew it, the estimated fifteen minutes were up, and I was already walking back home, triumphant, and brandishing enough fish to last my current party of three for a week.

The traffic lights turned red just as the pedestrian crossing light turned green. I crossed the road, all the while smiling disarmingly at the disgruntled drivers who thought they could beat the red light without sending bodies flying. As my slippers hit the sidewalk, I took another turn wistfully checked the sky.

"_Forza__—_um, excuse me, Ma'am?"

(_F__orza_ – Italian for, "**Here I go**,")

I walked past the accented voice, and continued for a good two meters down the road before my mind caught up with me; I belatedly realized that the "Ma'am" there probably meant me. Stopping, and very much confused, I turned around and backtracked to the speaker: a boy who stood in the middle of the street. The tips of his ears were burning a humiliated shade of red.

I cringed and immediately felt guilty. Clearing my throat, I stood in front of him and peered down to meet his eyes. They were green. "Sorry about that," I apologized. "I didn't think you were talking to me. Did you need something, dear?"

The boy, looking torn between wanting to disappear off the face of the earth permanently and lunging at me for causing him so much embarrassment, cleared his own throat, and straightened his spine. His pale hair, which was so white it was almost silver, was a mess, tousled unattractively by wind, and the dark bags under his eyes stood out against fair skin. He only looked vaguely Japanese—the shape of his eyes—because the rest of him, especially his nose and his skin color, screamed European. A trolley stood beside him, and I deduced his situation immediately—the poor boy probably got ridiculously lost after leaving the airport.

"Ma'am," he began politely, and I beamed at him, "Do you know where the—uh**, **_Come cazzo si pronuncia sta cosa_?_—_Sa-ku-ra A-Apartment, ermm, is?" He asked. He held out a tiny slip of paper.

(_Come cazzo si pronuncia sta cosa__ –_ Italian for, "**How the hell do I say this thing/shit**?")

I took the paper from him and squinted at the chicken scrawl handwriting I could barely make out. Thankfully, I had experience; Fuji never had the best penmanship, and her calligraphy left much to be desired. I was able to make out the street name.

I handed the paper back to him, "Sakura Apartments." I corrected good-naturedly. "Yes, I know where that is. I can take you there, if you want."

Something flickered into the boy's eyes. Suspicion, maybe. I shrugged and continued smiling benevolently.

In the end, he must've realized that he had no choice but to agree. He could probably read Japanese, but understanding a native speaker who spoke fluently and quickly was hard enough as it was. Given directions would do him no good because all the other streets would be unfamiliar. I was his best bet.

He nodded ever-so-slightly, looking resigned. I beamed and clasped my hands together, only belatedly remembering that I was carrying food when the condensed droplets dampened my shirt. "Excellent!" I exclaimed happily, shifting the bags back down so that they swung near my knees, "I'm Sawada Nana, by the way. What's your name, young man?"

He hesitated, but I waited patiently. "Hayato—ugh, damn it—Goku-Gokudera Hayato, Ma'am." He replied awkwardly, offering his hand. I laughed and sheepishly raised plastic bags I was carrying to show that I couldn't take his hand since mine were otherwise occupied. He flushed, and pulled his hand back. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's okay," I chuckled, amused. Sensing this, he turned an even brighter red. My laughter calmed down into faint giggles, but I abruptly stopped when the name finally clicked, like the sound of a gun's safety being removed.

Much to my later mortification, I froze up like a stone statue and stared at him like he grew another head.

Gokudera Hayato?!

My eyes widened, and then it was my turn to blush a beet red. I took two involuntary steps back, as if I had been tackled by something heavy. Gokudera—the right-hand man Gokudera—gave me a weird look that honestly should have offended me. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

"Yes." I replied quickly, recovering. I smothered the gushing urge and nodded to pacify him (or perhaps my inner fan girl), "Let's hurry. The streets will be crowded soon, and we don't want you to get lost again." I flashed him another smile for good measure.

Gokudera Hayato nodded embarrassedly, taking the handle of his luggage, "Lead the way, Sawada-san."

I nodded again—somehow I couldn't stop my head from bobbing and I was feeling dizzy for it—and began walking, recalling what I could remember of his destination. I took several calming breaths: inhale, and exhale, yes, slowly. I counted to ten and squared my shoulders.

The walk was short as the Sakura Apartments was quite famous (or should I say infamous?) in Namimori. It was quite a shady place—something Gokudera himself must have picked up on after a quick, disgusted survey of the dark building.

Once we reached the gates, I stopped and bowed. "Sorry, but this is where I leave you, Gokudera-san." I told him regretfully. If I continued any further, it would take longer for me to walk back home. As much as I wanted to stay and talk to one of my favorite characters, I had to keep Tsuna in mind. He would be late to school.

Gokudera nodded understandingly, "_Se potessi non ci andrei neppure io._" He muttered under his breath, "I understand, Sawada-san. Thank you for your assistance. I will go now." He gestured to the building with a grimace.

(_Se potessi non ci andrei neppure io – _Italian for, "**I would not go too**," in the context of, "**I wouldn't want to go in there either**.")

I smiled sympathetically and left with another bob of my head. It was weird, seeing another previously fictional character in real life.

* * *

"Mom!" Tsuna cried in relief as he opened the door for me, allowing me to enter the house. I put down the plastic bags and stretched my arms, chuckling when he hovered around me like a bumblebee.

"You were gone for forty minutes!" He berated, crossing his arms. "Where have you been!?" He demanded, narrowing his eyes.

I smiled at him faintly and ruffled his hair, wiping the sweat off his brow while I was at it. "I helped a young man get to his apartment. He was a foreigner, you see." I explained, biting the insides of my cheek. Reborn, who was still seated on the table, barely twitched at the mention of the foreigner, "The poor boy was lost."

Tsuna grumbled, peeved. "Lucky you returned when you did," he said, picking up the bags, "I was about to call the police." He led me to the kitchen and placed my purchase on the sink, and then poured me a glass of water.

I raised an eyebrow and sipped from it, finishing it in one go. "You're such a worry-wart, Tsuna." I sighed, "Why don't you clean the fish for me? I'm beat."

"Right."

* * *

Sawada Tsunayoshi stared out of the window and tried to ignore the kicks aimed at the back of his seat. The smack of feet against the wood made him bounce up ever so slightly, and he frowned, annoyed by it.

If it helped though, the person behind him had shortlegs. Poor guy was bruising his own shins instead of actually hurting Tsuna, which worked to the brunette's favor.

Actually, maybe he should tell the guy to stop, for the other boy's sake.

Half-heartedly, the short brunette turned around and forced a smile into his face. "Please stop, Koichi-san?"

The boy, something Koichi, paused, made a face, and stopped. He retreated his leg and rubbed his shin, mumbling something like an "okay", or "I was about to do it anyway, Sawada." Nevertheless, the kicking stopped, so Tsuna's happiness scale rose by a point.

Tsuna faced front and looked out of the window again, twirling his pencil around with two fingers. Well, that was one problem solved. Absentmindedly, he began to scratch the dulled tip of his pencil against the table's wooden surface, writing his name.

沢田綱吉 (SAWADA TSUNAYOSHI)

The door suddenly slid open, and Tsuna looked up so quickly his head spun. A tall, dark-haired man strolled inside the classroom, looking every bit of intimidating and scary despite his easy-going stride. He swept his gaze over the class—taking in the sight of surprised, frozen teenagers—and his dark eyes rested on Tsuna for a split second. It was enough to make the young teenager shiver.

The man gave them a tight-lipped smile, and the brunette had to wonder why the man even bothered to smile. It was so plastic. "Everyone, please return to your seats."

The deep voice was befitting a character who jumped right out of a suspense movie. In a mad scramble of legs and arms, everyone righted themselves, back in their seats and not one peep out of their mouths.

The man nodded approvingly and stood behind the teacher's table, posture rigidly straight, shoulders broad and squared like a soldier's. "I am Toshio Masahiko." He began, taking out a piece of chalk and writing the characters of his name on the board.

After, he tossed the chalk into the room's previously empty chalk box and turned to address the class again, "You may refer to me as Toshio-sensei. Your homeroom and history teacher, Kagami-sensei, has met an unfortunate, ah," A thoughtful look entered his eyes, "Incident,"

The way he said it was extremely unsettling.

"So I will be subbing his sessions for the mean time. That is, until his recovery." Substitute teachers were almost always treated like a joke in Namimori Middle School, but this man looked like he wouldn't hesitate to snap someone's neck if he wasn't treated with respect. "Does anyone have any questions?"

Nobody dared to raise his or her hand.

"Excellent." He stretched his lips into a false grin, and put down several thin stacks of books on his table. "If you are unaware, which I'm sure you are," Kurokawa Hana bristled from the first row, and Toshio gave her a sarcastic smile, "The administration has suddenly decided to partake into a foreign exchange program for reasons unknown," he said flatly, "We have a transfer student from Italy. Treat him well. Come inside now, Gokudera Hayato."

The door was kicked open, which made the sliding panels rattle and creak. Tsuna frowned and couldn't help but feel irritated at the new student's treatment of their door. That door was meant to be slid to the side, not pushed open.

Their new classmate turned out to be a terrifying teenager. He strolled in, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked every bit of a delinquent: he was wearing bracelets and a thin-string necklace, his uniform was unbuttoned, his hair was _silver_, and he was wearing a fearsome scowl that could send any full-grown man urinating in his own pants.

Tsuna blanched and looked away. What was it with terrifying new people attending school today?

"Gokudera, take the free seat. I will start by taking the attendance." Toshio said without much interest, gesturing to the table in the far back, which was thankfully far far away from Tsuna. For a moment, Tsuna sent a small prayer for the boy's poor, unfortunate seat mates who would no doubt suffer. A lot.

"Say present after I call your name. Arashi Koichi."

"Present."

Senses going on a sudden haywire, Tsuna jerked up and looked back to the front, wondering what got him so alarmed.

Everything was muted by Tsuna's ears when he found that the the silverette had fixed his scowl at Tsuna.

_What did I do? _Tsuna thought in a panic, flinching back from the dark glare. His palms dampened as the new student walked towards him instead of the designated seat.

Just as the boy was nearing—and Tsuna noticed the other boy's twitching fingers, which was a very verybad sign—the eraser flew from the teacher's hand and smacked the back of the boy's head with a loud and painful thwack.

Gokudera sneered and turned around, meeting Toshio's narrowed eyes but amicable face. "What?" He spat, making a few girls giggle into their hands. Tsuna's firm belief that women were crazy solidified. How could anyone find that display of evil _stimulating_?

Stimulating fear, maybe.

Toshio smiled again, and it was dripping so much falseness Tsuna had to look away. For a second he missed his mother's big, genuine smiles. It was painful to watch someone smile so fakely.

"Your seat is on the other side of the room, Gokudera," Toshio chuckled coldly, "Or are you directionally challenged?"

Though it was a joke, nobody had enough guts to laugh.

"Please leave, ah, what's your name, boy with the fluffy hair?"

_Boy with the fluffy hair? _Tsuna echoed incredulously, but he stammered out his name. A cruel gleam entered the teacher's eyes, and he smirked. "Please leave Sawada alone, Gokudera." The man finished.

"Che." The silverette grunted, eyebrows twitching. He slowly complied, but not before sending Tsuna and Toshio more hateful glares.

Toshio grinned again, not at all bothered by the development. "Now, Busho Kizashi."

"Present."

* * *

"That was close!" Tsuna panted as he leaned against a wall, lungs begging for air and legs wailing for rest. His techniques of Avoid-The-Big-Fat-Bullies had worked—only barely, but it was better than nothing. He was already getting the hang of dodging them though, so he wouldn't have to worry his mother by going home all black-and-blue. For the first time in a long time, he thanked the Silly Sixth Sense (it was silly, no matter what his mother said) and clutched the wall with clamoring hands, laughing. "I could've been beaten to death!"

"Your wussiness is an eyeful."

"Is that even a word?" Tsuna automatically replied, straightening up tiredly to address the new presence. Wussiness didn't sound like a legit word.

Gokudera Hayato stood before him, head cocked to the side and cigarette clenched between pearly white teeth. The silverette had a whole packet of them, Tsuna noted, tucked inside his breast pocket.

Give or take a few days, the Discipline Committee would be on to his case. Tsuna had half-a-mind to warn the boy away.

"Gokudera-san, hello!" He greeted jovially, making use of his manners. He smoothly turned around and walked away as quickly as he could despite the aching protests of his legs. "Goodbye now!"

"Oi!"

Tsuna knew the silverette was saying something, knew that he should have been listening (dialogue was an important part of a story line), but he ignored the words and only focused on escaping (which was the logical thing to do).

He needed to get back to the classroom, get his bag, and hightail it out of there.

"Tch! You're not only a nuisance, but also a coward!" Came the angry shout behind him, and Tsuna faintly realized he must have missed something important because they were not reading the same page. How did "Wussiness is not a word, scoff scoff," go to "Hi!" and then become "You're useless!"?

"Die right here!"

The smell of fire had the brunette turning around curiously. He stumbled to a stop at the sight of four—no, forgive the terrible eyesight,_ six_ dynamites, lit by a cackling flame and held in the boy's hand. Where the f-ck did that come from?

"Later." The silverette whispered dramatically, green eyes shadowed as he did what could be the craziest thing Tsuna had ever seen—he tossed the dynamites towards the wide-eyed brunette.

"Uwah?!" The first explosion rocked the brunette backwards, enough to spark some proper alarm into his senses. "Gwa! Dude, man, what the f-ck, a-are you c-crazy?!"

Five simultaneous explosions sent debris flying everywhere, and it confirmed to Tsuna that yep, he got that right; the boy was crazy.

The reluctant Vongola heir shakily stood up and tried to see through the smoke. As he turned his head, he belatedly noticed the small form of his self-acclaimed mafia tutor pointing a gun at him.

The silhouette of the new student formed through the thick gray smoke. "Collapsed and frozen in fear." The boy muttered, bringing out another set of dynamites from the inside of his clothes. "Pathetic. I can't believe you even survived my first round."

The smoke cleared, and Tsuna felt dread pool at the pit of his stomach. Everything was so wrong today. A crazy kid from Italy was trying to kill him. His own tutor was pointing a gun at him.

What would he tell his mother?

A muffled "Die," came from the silverette (again), just as a loud bang resonated throughout the clearing.

Everything flashed black for Tsuna. When he opened his eyes, he was in his underwear (what the actual f-ck?!) and he somehow felt, uh, powerful?

"Reborn!" Came the involuntary snarl from his lips, and he jumped up, energized, and well, alive. "I'll put out the fuse with my dying will!"

"_Defuse!_"

The silverette's panicked comebacks were drowned away as Tsuna put out all the dynamites, one red stick after the other. The heat that crackled against his skin lasted for nothing more than a millisecond, and he pinched the flames dead. It was raining unlit dynamites behind him as he tore through the incoming waves of explosives like a storm.

It was getting ridiculous though. Why where there were so many dynamites? Where was Gokudera fishing them out from (besides under his clothes)!?

"Triple bombs—_merda_."

(_Me__rda_ – Italian for, "**Oh, shit,**")

Gokudera brought out a handful more of dynamites, shoved some into his own mouth for the maximum number of red sticks, and almost comically (almost_—_if it weren't for the fact that they were going to _die_), one stick of dynamite fell from his hands. The others followed, forming some sort of pile around the bomber.

Tsuna's heart honest to God skipped a beat. So many dynamites in a single area—"oh merda" or whatever the boy said was an understatement.

"Defuse!"

He got to those dynamites, too.

As the last dynamite fell to the ground, Tsuna calmly examined their surroundings. The damages were minor. He shook his head and fell on his butt. "This is a crazy day. Somehow," he said the word disbelievingly, and he was right to do so, "I made it."

With the declaration said out loud, he sagged in a relieved puddle and dry-heaved. There had been a flame on his forehead. He was pretty sure he had died at one point, too.

As soon as he recovered, Tsuna stood up and cuffed Gokudera's bowed head. "Are you stupid?" He screamed, shaking the foreigner hysterically. "I should throttle you right now!" He was on the verge to, actually.

Gokudera, disoriented by the jerky treatment he was given, could only stutter out a "W-What?"

Tsuna shrieked. "You almost killed yourself!" He yelled, "And me!" Let's not forget that, too.

"Your face is littered with cuts, what the heck are you going to tell the administration?! Those dynamites were," He surveyed the wreckage that surrounded them, and let out a frustrated noise that was a mix of a wail and a snarl. That noise pretty much summed up what he thought of the whole thing. "Can you stand?"

The other boy nodded dazedly, taken aback, "I-I think so."

"C'mon." Tsuna said gruffly, taking the boy's shoulder, "I can't stand here with you in public in only my boxers. People will think the wrong thing." Motherwill think the wrong thing, "My bag's in the classroom."

Reborn spoke up, and the brunette was surprised at the sudden squeaky interruption. He had forgotten about the Italian mafioso. "What are you doing, Dame-Tsuna?" The tutor asked evenly, his tone unreadable.

Tsuna frowned darkly and glared at the silent baby. He wanted to ask so many questions—what was that flame? Why was he in his boxers? Who was Gokudera, and why was he there?—but he held his tongue in check. All questions would be answered—eventually. Right now he needed to beat some sense into his new classmate.

"Please stay out of this for the mean time, Reborn-san." He asked steadily, forming an expression he hoped resembled his tutor's, "I need to treat Gokudera-san. We will speak later."

Before he could be shot at for his impudence, he tugged on his classmate's arm and fled the area. Just so, he missed the raised eyebrow Reborn gave him, and the small approving smirk that split into the mafioso's face.

* * *

As they reached the classroom (without anyone seeing Tsuna in naught but his underwear, thank goodness), Tsuna gestured for Gokudera to sit down. He picked up his egg-stained bag—his tormentors had no imagination at all—and plopped it down beside the quiet silverette, taking note of the strange look he was given at the state of his bag.

"My bag's water proof, don't worry." He reassured the boy, "The stain will come off. Now stay still."

He brought out his basic first aid kit and carefully opened it. Calmly, he turned to Gokudera with a serene smile. The expression was gone in an instant as he hit the boy on the head, "Bad!" He scolded, taking immense satisfaction at the sight of the foreigner cringing in pain.

He pulled out a cold water bottle and pressed it against the boy's head, "You don't do stuff like that! In school grounds, no less! You could've been arrested! What if you hurt someone besides me?" He exclaimed, bringing out a small bottle of ethyl alcohol.

Gokudera looked up and glared at Tsuna, and the brunette was relieved to have some semblance of normality return to the boy. He had been kind of scared by the teen's silence. "Shut up!" Gokudera growled, "You're not my-"

Tsuna poured alcohol on a piece of cotton and dabbed it on one of the cuts along the other boy's cheek, earning him a pained hiss.

"-mother! _Fa male! Si più delicato!_"

(_Fa male! Si più delicato – _Italian for, "**That hurts! Be more gentle!**")

The brunette scoffed. "I may not be, because well, I'm male," there was an awkward pause, "But that doesn't change the fact that you tossed explosives around, in school grounds," He dabbed the cotton along again, and was rewarded by another hiss. "Blindly! You were trying to kill me!" Tsuna huffed irritatedly, ignoring the silverette's winces, "I feel responsible for you."

The transfer student gave him a long, odd look. "_Sei matto_." He accused.

(_Sei matto –_ Italian for, "**You're crazy**,")

Tsuna huffed again. "Muchasu graciasu tara vamonosu whateveru senorito."

The odd look intensified, but there was definitely a glimmer of amusement in the other boy's eyes now. "That's Spanish." Gokudera snickered, turning away. His shoulders were shaking, which Tsuna perceived as a good sign.

The mafia heir sighed and brought out his dinosaur-patterned band-aids. He finished up on his job. "I'm glad I amuse you. Be more careful." He cleared his throat, "In fact, I'd rather you never do it again."

Gokudera returned to facing him, his expression unreadable. A part of Tsuna refused to be cowed by the sudden stoniness.

They stared at each other for three seconds.

"Why?" Gokudera uttered.

Tsuna made a face. "Because it's wrong to kill people who haven't done anything to you?" He exclaimed, frustrated by the line of questioning.

Gokudera scowled. "No, not that question. _Santo__ Dio._" He let out a long suffering sigh that slightly offended Tsuna, "Why did you save me?" He tried again.

(_Caro Dio_ – Italian for, "**Dear God**," in the context of exasperated wondering)

"Ah. That." There was a beat of silence when Tsuna was disinclined to answer. What was he supposed to say?

He meticulously brushed off the dirt from Gokudera's uniform, eyes half-lidded in thought. "Good question." He murmured to himself. It was quiet, but the silverette heard it nonetheless.

The other boy's expression tensed and tightened, but Tsuna was quick to pacify him with a hand to the leg. The reaction led Tsuna to think that the quarter Japanese boy probably had a ridiculously low self-esteem, and was used to rejection. The tiniest hints of dismissal made him spring up like a trap.

It was dreadful. No one should have that many guards up.

"Don't do anything insane," the brunette scolded softly, squeezing Gokudera's knee. "I have a limited supply of Dino-aids. But to your question," he retracted his hand and closed his first aid kit, absently returning it into his soiled bag. "I saved you because it was the right thing to do."

Gokudera couldn't help the scoff that left his mouth.

Tsuna glared at him. "Oi, d-don't give me that look. I know it sounds cliché, but it was—the right thing to do, that is. But also cliché, if you want my personal opinion-ah," he cut off his ramblings and took a deep breath. It was embarrassing; he hadn't meant to start prattling on like an antsy teenager.

He closed his eyes, and opened them again, meeting Gokudera's disgruntled look head on. He was going to say it, darn it. "What I mean to say is, I've been in that tight spot before. And it's terrible. When you're doing so good and suddenly everything goes wrong, and you're helpless. No one had been around to help me."

Tsuna gulped. "The strong protect the weak and help them become stronger. While you are riduclously strong, you were helpless for that split second. I had the choice to save you, and I did, because I could." He explained. "It was," he looked down, "it was the right thing to do."

Another long silence engulfed the room, so loud and grating against his ears, and Tsuna found himself the direct recipient of an inquisitive stare. He waited for the other boy to say something (anything would do), but the silence only continued on.

Tsuna gathered his bag into his arms, the drying egg white staining his arms and naked chest. He shivered. "The nurse's office has an extra uniform," he told his classmate. "I'll just, ah, go there. Yeah." He turned to leave, and was stopped by the incomprehensible feeling that he was abandoning something precious.

By the doorway, he turned around and offered the silent delinquent a weak smile. The silverette was staring straight at him. It made Tsuna feel very small. "See you tomorrow, Gokudera-san!"

* * *

Tsuna was surprised to see Gokudera after he left the nurse's office. The taller boy had been standing before the door, expression still irritatingly stony. He appeared to have been waiting for Tsuna.

The brunette straightened his newly acquired uniform (which the nurse had given him with great reluctance) shifted his hold on his dried bag. After the surprise of seeing the sileverette faded away, he looked away uncomfortably. "Um,"

"Sawada-san." Began the unusually quiet boy.

Tsuna tried to lighten the atmosphere, "Haha, finally you speak!" He cheered, offering a warm smile despite the awkwardness that choked them both. "Gokudera-san, please call me Tsuna. Or Tsunayoshi. Sawada-san is my mother."

The silver-haired boy nodded, "Tsunayoshi-sama, then."

That wasn't what he had been aiming for, Tsuna thought with a sweatdrop.

"Tsunayoshi-sama," The brunette forced himself to unfreeze, so that he could worriedly pay attention to the transfer student. "Allow me to be your right-hand man. I will not fail you."

Incomprehension swarmed his brain, triggering all sorts of questions, before it clicked all of a sudden. "This is about the whole Vongola thing, isn't it?" He sighed, rubbing his head. He could sense a headache coming.

Gokudera relaxed his stance, hands still shoved into his pocket. "Partly." He muttered. His eyebrows were furrowed (huh, they were silver, too. Was silver the boy's natural coloring?), and Tsuna noticed that the other boy was trying hard not to dig into his pants for more cigarettes.

Tsuna gave the other boy a long, searching look. Deciding that he didn't see what he thought he would see in those green eyes, he turned around and walked away calmly. "No."

The silence followed him until he was a good twenty feet away from the taller teen. When he stopped and turned around, he was taken aback by the crippling hurt and disappointment that the transfer student wore in his face.

His chest hurt just by looking at him. Tsuna decided he didn't want to see Gokudera wearing that face ever again.

Having already mentally prepared his speech, Tsuna licked his dry lips and spoke, "If I know right, only my closest friend can be my right hand man." He began slowly, closing his eyes. "And honestly, I don't really have any friends." He turned his eyes to his feet, overcome by a sudden bashfulness that came out of nowhere.

"So, Gokudera-san, can I ask you to be my first friend? We'll work our way down the road afterwards." He laughed embarrassedly, "I think it's important if you'll be my friend first before you become my right hand man."

A stupefied expression entered Gokudera's face, and the silverette blinked a couple of times, thinking he had heard wrong.

After a pause, he broke out into a small smile and rolled his eyes upwards, muttering something under his breath. "Really?" He had muttered with surprising fondness.

He nodded earnestly and jogged after Tsuna, "Sure thing, Tsunayoshi-sama. I'll work hard!" His green eyes sparkled with determination. The brunette chanced another glance at those eyes. They were so green.

"Cool." Tsuna laughed shyly, shaking his head. "Y-You, a-ah, don't have to look so eager, though. And don't call me Tsunayoshi-sama. Just," he paused and took a deep breath. It was pretty bad time for his stuttering to kick in, "Just Tsuna-san will do."

Gokudera thought for a moment as they stepped down the stairs together. Tsuna honestly felt weird having to walk beside someone.

"How about Jyuudaime?"

Tsuna blinked, confused. "Tenth?" He translated promptly. "T-Tenth what? Tenth f-friend?"

"Tenth boss, of course!" Gokudera exclaimed, giving him an incredulous glance, but Tsuna wasn't really listening or looking. He was getting dizzy, and his face was hot.

It felt good, to walk beside someone.

"Jyuudaime it is, then!" The silverette concluded upon Tsuna's silence, shaking his head. He felt giddy and excited; there were tremors making his hand shake, so he had them shoved inside his pockets. It was so weird.

But it sort of felt right.

* * *

OMAKE

"Tsunayoshi!" I giggled, bouncing on the couch as I heard the door open with Tsuna's tired greeting. It was half-past five. "You're home!" Chuckling at my stating the obvious, I lowered the TV's volume and leaned back. "Come on, or else you'll miss the new episode of Detective Boys!" I yelled, taking the bowl of popcorn I made. I propped my feet on the center table and crossed one leg over the other.

"Uh, Mom?" I heard him call. " I brought a friend."

That much was obvious, judging by the second pair of footsteps that trailed after him. But I wasn't supposed to be that good at detecting sh-t, so I paused and turned around, waiting for him and his friend to enter my line of vision. "Oh really?" I hummed, interested.

The footfall was too heavy to be a girl's. A guy?

The two dropped their bags by the entrance, and Tsuna began herding his companion to the living room, talking about how he knew the other had to go home soon, but he really wanted him to meet me.

Much to my surprise, equally startled green eyes met mine as the two ambled into the living room. I noticed the silver hair immediately, and I realized that Tsuna had brought Gokudera home.

While the boy was frozen in surprise, I reacted quickly. I straightened up and smiled benignly. "Ah, it's the young man from this morning."

"Eh?" Tsuna wondered.

"I wasn't aware you studied in the same school as Tsuna," I continued, "Have some popcorn with us. Tsuna, Reborn's already home. If you two want some of my homemade popcorn, then you better work fast. Gokudera-san, please, make yourself comfortable. Now, excuse me because I need to retrieve photo albums,"

"Eh?" Tsuna wondered again.

* * *

OMAKE

"Reborn-san." Tsuna began quietly.

The tutor tipped his fedora to show that he was listening.

The two of them sat in Tsuna's room, the former starting on his homework while the latter doing his job and torturing the younger boy.

"Please, Reborn-san. Explain to me what happened."

A cruel smirk spread on the mafioso's face. "Every time you get a correct answer on your homework, I will answer one question."

Tsuna looked down at his notebook. He had been able to ask Gokudera for the answer of question number one. "Okay! The answer to number one is three and one-third." He supplied smugly.

"Hah!" The brunette crowed upon his tutor's silence, "You didn't expect me to know the answer to that one, didn't you?"

"No." Reborn answered, "Next question number."

"...?"

Reborn smirked.

"Oh wait, _no._ That was a rhetorical question, it's not included! Reborn! Hey! Nooooooo. Nooo man, no. Don't do this to me."

"Dame-Tsuna, if you don't stop your _moaning_,"

"!"

"I will not answer your questions at all."

"Eff you Reborn."

"Kinky, Tsuna."

"Urgh. No. That's disgusting! Ugh. Man. That's—no."

"Your mother doesn't think so."

"...She's a bad influence on you. I liked you better when you were just weapons and silence."

Reborn silently brought out a bazooka.

"I hate you."

* * *

**The correct Italian translation has been provided by Tarantio84. Thank you for your help! **


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: And the official third chapter, here we go! Thank you so much for the reviews and follows and favorites and reads! They're a good source of inspiration!

**Edit**: April 5, 2015. I am so doing this whole revision thing, because my writing was (vomit). Banzai!

* * *

"_One day you will do things for me that you hate. That is what it means to be family."_

_― Jonathan Safran Foer, **Everything Is Illuminated**_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Three

A wise man once said, "The early bird gets the worm," and just so, a smiling Nori also once said, "The earlier of the two rogues gets to scout the terrain and find his advantages, and then beat the late arrival's behind seven ways to Sunday,"

Of course, Nori's original quote was far more vulgar, with a swear or five tossed into the mix, and a hell'a lot of obscene gestures not meant for the eyes and ears of proper society, but I'm sure, if we zoomed out and laid out the principles of the two, the proverbs meant the same thing. Punctuality had useful and generous fruits to those patient enough to be early.

Not that I'm comparing my hot-head redhead to a wise man.

The mere thought of it makes me laugh. Nori was anything but wise. Sure, she had her moments (which, in truth, were far and few in between), but most of the time she was the reckless type of person —the one who launched herself into trouble and said 'oops' when it was already too late.

Believe it or not, it was up to me (most of the time, when her beloved husband wasn't around for them to have some angry hanky-panky) to keep her alive. I didn't really do that job well, now did I?

She was six feet deeper that she should be.

Dryly laughing out loud at my own thoughts, I shook my head and gave Tsuna, who was walking by my side, a playful smile. The asphalt concrete making up a chunk of the road was damp with slowly drying water; the town government usually has a truck leaking water drive along the dustiest streets to prevent clouds of dust from coming up every time a vehicle speeds by. I remembered a time when the smoke became a really big issue for the people who lived closest to the main roads.

"Are you sure you want to accompany Mama to the market?" I asked the smaller brunette, and by default, Reborn who sat on top of Tsuna's fluffy head like it was his own personal portable throne (and maybe it was).

I hadn't the heart to blame the little guy; the brown locks were as comfortable as they looked (which most certainly explained my obsession with petting them). If I had been an Arcobaleno, then I wouldn't pass on the marvelous chance to sit on those comfy strands of hair either. It was like a beautiful patch of velvety fur.

Tsuna huffed and shot me an irritated sideways glance. He was wearing that white "Vote for Pedro" shirt Iemitsu had sent two months prior, perhaps as an inside joke to the DVD the blond sent along with it. His khaki pants were the tiniest bit faded, and I secretly nodded approvingly. He looked good without pushing the uke scene.

"Mother," He began exasperatedly, gaze piercing, "How old am I?"

Well, that was a silly question. "Thirteen, sweetheart." I answered without missing a beat. He would turn fourteen on the fourteenth of October.

"Can I handle buying food?" He continued with a raised eyebrow.

"Well," I paused, "Yes." I relented slowly.

He scowled and hit my forearm. "What's with that reluctant pause?" He demanded suspiciously, almost petulantly, but there was a teasing tilt somewhere in his voice. "Are you doubting my ability to carry a couple of bags?" He sniffed.

I playfully hesitated. "No?"

"There's that pause again!" He exclaimed exasperatedly, raised eyebrow comically twitching, "Stop babying me, Mom!"

I hummed and nodded distractedly, digging out the grocery list from the pocket of my pants. It was a tight fit, and the piece of paper came out looking like it had gone through a flattener all folded up. "It's not babying, Tsuna," I confided in him, having not meant to slight his manliness or whatever. "One day you'll leave the nest, so this is just Mama doing her best to give you the greatest treatment." I chastised absently, resigned to accept that reality.

He faltered in his steps and sent me a terrified glance I pretended not to notice. Maybe he knew that his "One day," was soon—sooner than anyone else's because he was going to be a mafia boss. His shoulders tensed, and his brown eyes flicked up towards the entity that was seated on his head. He snapped his gaze away lickety-split.

Slowly, he struggled to relax. I feigned ignorance about his lagging behind.

With a shake of his head, Tsuna jogged forward to catch up to my steadfast pace. "Fine, Mom," He mumbled, eyes downcast. For all that I knew of this boy, I couldn't quite begin to imagine what he was thinking.

I sent him a small smile and took his smaller hand into mine, wistfully struck by the thought that years ago, that very same hand had been much much smaller. I had to walk at a snail's pace because little Tsunayoshi "ooh"-ed and "aah"-ed at every sparkle of sunshine, every rattle of a cart. And who was I to deprive him of such wonders?

Now, he walked by so quickly he missed the little things. He was all grown-up, making his own decisions. Perhaps he didn't need his mother butting her own head into his business.

"Just like the old days, ne?" I whispered, squeezing his fingers comfortingly.

Wordlessly, he squeezed mine back.

But perhaps, he did need her to.

I brought the grocery list closer to my face and examined its contents, mentally estimating how much they would cost—individually and generally. My eyesight and mathematical skills weren't as good as they had been; I had to wear reading glasses to read novels of my choosing, and my mental math sucked more than straws were used to perform the act.

The weekend had been welcomed by the Sawada residence with cheer. Once, or sometimes even twice in one month, my son and I would take the train out of Namimori and into my old town to pay a visit to my cranky father, which explained why the two of us—well, three if you included Reborn—rose at the crack of dawn. For once, Tsunayoshi didn't complain about missing his beauty sleep ("It's notbeauty sleep!") and was present the second the market opened.

All of the items in there were fresh.

I smirked; the early bird gets the worm indeed.

As we approached the sidewalk that opened to the wet market, I released Tsuna's hand and turned to him seriously, meeting his eyes. "You buy those things, and I will buy these." I instructed him firmly, gesturing to his own list, which he brought out after my insistence. "We'll meet again in this spot an hour later. It'll be faster that way, okay? Be careful. You have your money?"

He examined the list closely before checking his pockets. "Yes, Mom."

I nodded in approval. "Reborn-kun, please keep Tsunayoshi out of trouble?" I asked, raising my chin to face the Arcobaleno.

Tsuna rolled his eyes and mumbled something inaudible under his breath from my peripheral vision, and in return, Reborn tipped his head. One small hand tugged at Tsuna's hair. Hard.

"Ow!"

"Will do, Mama."

Satisfied by the affirmative replies I received, I started to shoo them away. "Alright boys, off you go."

Fingers twitching, Tsuna saluted and jogged away, his sloppy movements manipulated by the hitman who continued to tug on his hair like it was the brunette's control panel. The pretty picture reminded me of an old movie I had seen once in my original life. Something about a rat and a restaurant. I couldn't quite place the title, but it was on the tip of my tongue.

Nevertheless, I waited until the two completely disappeared from my sight before I began checking the environment for Reborn's spies, in the pretense of browsing the stands for white meat. I wasn't certain what spies he used exactly; the only ones I could remember were the beetles from the manga, and that was something I was reluctant to believe in.

Surely, something like that couldn't be true in real life! What on Earth could Reborn use to control insects?

_But it was better to be safe than sorry_, Nori's voice reminded me hoarsely. I mentally agreed with her.

There weren't many customers in the market—not yet, anyway, since not many people woke up at half-past four. After the conclusion, it was pretty easy to spot the colony of beetles crawling over crumbling walls.

I only had to continue walking around and tell which ones were following me.

In the end, I was able to say that at least two were in my vicinity, at most six, but that was already in the general area. One beetle in particular kept on fluttering closely; it was hard to tell. If it was surveillance, which I was sure it was, then I had to pretend that I didn't notice it.

Sighing impatiently, I approached a random stall and greeted the minder with a polite smile. "How much for the cabbages, dear?" I asked, tapping the closest vegetable with a trimmed fingernail.

The girl, perhaps not even out of college yet, looked up from a notebook and shrugged. "One head costs one-thirty-eight. If you buy two, we'll give you a two-seventy." She answered, scratching the back of her head.

That was a good deal. Buying two heads was tempting, but I only really needed one. I nodded off-handedly. "Only one head."

She wrinkled her nose and stood up, snatching a plastic bag from the pile nailed next to her. Shoving a hand into the bag to fully open it and flapping it about, she used her other hand to distractedly pick out the freshest cabbage from the stock. Her fingers fluttered past several leafy spheres, prying others aside and digging out the ones from underneath.

Not a morning person, my mind supplied with some amusement, watching her mutter under her breath. As she handed me the plastic bag, I pulled out my wallet and brought out the amount she needed, shrugging delicately at her prying gaze. I had stocked up some of the money Iemitsu sent home, so I had a rather generous number of bills in my hands.

I shut the wallet immediately, straightening when I noticed one of the passersby pausing suspiciously beside the stall. It was nothing big, just a stutter of his step, but I was pretty sure steps weren't supposed to stutter on that flat of a ground.

Smiling prettily at the minder, who was also glancing at the floundering passerby suspiciously, I inclined my head. "Thanks." I said loudly, eying the eavesdropper's shoes. "Have a nice morning, miss."

"You too, Ma'am." She mumbled, frowning at the passerby.

Stretching my fingers discreetly, I moved on to the next stall and greeted the stout minder with a jubilant chirp. It was best to ignore the passerby, who twisted around in place and ducked behind the fish stands.

Odd. His original course was supposed to lead him opposite my direction.

Oh well.

* * *

The one hour time limit passed by quickly, and through record time, I finished everything on my list. Going to the market was always a tiring chore that I enjoyed doing—even with the beetles and the odd-one-out that kept on dogging my steps.

Either way, it was time to meet Tsuna again. He should have everything in the list too, seeing as despite his dame-reputation (which I loved crushing every time), there were people in the market who adored him. Mostly old ladies, but meh, really.

I passed by the stall where I bought the cabbage from and checked my wristwatch. I was running late, and Tsuna would complain for hours if I was as much as five minutes tardy. The younger brunette always did have a mean-streak when it came to me and time—I wonder if he got it from his father.

"Excuse me, miss," I began, taking in the girl's familiar face. She didn't look as cranky as she did the first time around. Her cheeks were rounded in the sort of way that told me she wasn't athletic much, but wasn't lazy either. "Is there any short-cut around here that leads to the main entrance?"

She nodded, but her eyes strayed to a spot above my shoulder. I glanced at the reflection of her unlit hanging lamp and smiled. My passerby from earlier was the determined sort, it seemed.

"There is," the girl confirmed quietly, returning her attention to my face. I met her eyes directly. "Right there." I followed the direction her finger was pointing to. There was a narrow alley that was about only four times my width, stacked with decaying wood and garbage. The walls that ran on both of its sides had loose bricks and nests of only God knows what.

"But it's rarely used," the girl continued quickly, eyes widening. Perhaps she thought she knew I was going to use it. And maybe I was. "I don't think you should use that path, Ma'am," she stammered, "It's really dangerous and, um, well, thieves are rampant these days, you know?"

It was perfect. "I do," I nodded, rubbing my wrists. She gave me a strange look (I wasn't making much sense), so I smiled and thanked her for the conversation. Almost bouncing on my feet, I twisted around and headed straight for the short-cut alley, mindful of not only my passerby, but the beetles as well.

The alley was dark and cold and grimy. It smelled foul. Covering my nose with a dainty hand, I sighed underneath my breath and walked forward with my lightest and quietest step, springing up to an almost jog with the balls of my feet.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the quietude.

A hoarse voice spoke up, shattering the silence two strangers shared in a path less traveled. "Give me your money."

I smiled to myself and continued on walking. "Oh?" I asked.

The footsteps broke out into a hurry, and the voice drew nearer. Twenty feet. Eighteen feet. Fifteen feet. He was running.

"Stop! I said, give me your money!"

The heavy footfall sounded faster; the time between each slap of rubber against the grainy cement decreased to almost none at all. The sound of his sprint made my heart jump, and with a quiet laugh, I began running.

Okay, maybe not running. I was frolicking like Julie Andrews did in The Sound of Music.

A hand caught the hem of my shirt. I lurched to a stop and stumbled forward, almost losing my balance. Something shiny (and pointy) glinted from my peripheral vision—a knife.

"Now. Money, you running bint. Don't turn around or you're dead." Came the urgent, if slightly angry, order.

* * *

Back in the open market, the people were slowly trickling in, more and more by the minute.

The minder of one cabbage stall, a twenty-one year old Hotori Sen, served two more sleepy customers before the wall clock struck five-forty AM. Vibrating with anxiety, she looked from left to right, expecting the arrival of Namimori's infamous Disciplinary Committee members.

Like clockwork, the committee members never failed to show up.

A pair would always pass by every morning, patrolling the streets for troublemakers. If she were unfortunate, then Hibari Kyoya himself would arrive, leaving death and doom in his wake. If her lucky stars were feeling less vindictive, then perhaps it was Kusakabe Tetsuya who would come to buy some cabbages.

A shadow crossed her line of vision, and she prayed. "Hotori-san, good morning."

_Praise the stars!_ Sen wept mentally, breaking out into a beautiful smile of relief. Her stars were being gracious today; it was the middle school's Disciplinary Committee second-in-command who dropped by her family's cabbage stall. Nobody else would bother to greet her so courteously.

She returned his greeting (a bashful "Good morning, Kusakabe-san!) and gave him his pre-ordered cabbages with a duck of her head. She always reserved the best cabbage for him. She knew that he bought his groceries in behalf of Namimori's very own demon (they were related, she heard), and she was smart enough to serve the skylark nothing less than the best.

Kusakabe smiled politely and accepted the plastic bag. It was the weekend, but he was wearing the middle school's uniform. Sen honestly had never seen him in anything else. "Thank you, Hotori-san," he said, bowing his head. He met her eyes and gave her a warm smile, and Sen's cheeks flushed.

"Have a good day." He murmured, and turned to leave, plastic bag held in one hand along with many others.

"Wait!" She found herself shouting, and the weekend routine the two shared for years cracked apart. She never tried to make conversation with him before.

Kusakabe froze and his face reddened. He composed himself quickly and turned around.

Sen would make this one time an exception, she decided.

The woman who foolishly took the short-cut despite Sen's warnings was in trouble.

Sen stood up and pointed to the alley, bravely squaring her shoulders. "K-Kusakabe-san, um, you see," she stuttered, "There was a woman who took the short-cut to the main entrance," she said, and his jaw clenched in disappointment.

Sen wondered why, but her gut was stirring with ill ease. Whatever bothered him she could worry about another time; she should have never answered the woman's question and just pretended that there was no short-cut in the first place. "And, and a man followed her inside. I-I'm worried; what if-"

He cut her off with a sharp nod, realizing the weight of the circumstances. "I understand the situation, Hotori-san. I will check on it immediately."

Sen watched him go with a frown.

* * *

I distanced myself with a submissive hum, put down my groceries and reached for my wallet.

The next second, I did a complete three-sixty with a twist of my leg—shifting my balance to my right foot as a well-aimed kick of my left leg smacked the knife away from the man's hands, the back of my ballerina flats hitting his wrist.

For a split moment, I reveled in smug satisfaction as I took in the surprised expression in his face (he had a long face and a pointed chin), but then it was all a blur of movement as I put down that foot and twisted my torso so that the swing of my fist caught his entire left cheek. He sailed back with a shout, the impact turning his body around, and he stumbled on his own crossed legs.

His pointy chin hit the ground with a terrible crack.

Panting (because wooh!), I straightened and nudged my purchased ingredients away with the sole of my shoes. Walking over to his surprised form, I kicked his ribs and stepped on his head, driving his nose further into the pavement.

Snapping out of his startled stupor, my passerby began snarling and clawing at my ankle, pulling back to stand up, but despite the scratches on my leg, my hold on his head was tight. He pulled and scrambled and flailed. His every move was only punctuated by a harder shove on my part.

I chuckled. "You're going to end up with your nose broken if you keep on doing that," I warned.

His angry answers were lost as he started to beat against the leg that kept him down. The first blow landed quite solidly, almost knocking my foot aside, but before he could continue, I experimentally put all my weight on that one foot.

There was another crack and with surprising strength, he broke free of my sandaled foot. Hands that shouldv'e disarmed me fell to his face, and he clutched his broken nose, letting out pained moans amidst his blubbered gibberish. He crawled back, disoriented, and I tutted underneath my breath, examining my scratched up leg.

With blood splattered all over his face and his eyes glassy with unshed tears, the man didn't seem as excellent as an opponent anymore. He was only a filthy ruffian, one of the many in the streets. Giving him a disappointed frown, I bent down and gingerly picked up the discarded knife with a handkerchief, cradling it close.

I wasn't the only one who felt the tables turning even more—to my favor. I could tell by the way his eyes flared with panic when he eyed the glinting knife; I could tell by the way he tried to push himself up so that he could run. It was an intoxicating sight, and I realized that I had missed the looks of fear; I had missed pulling the rug away from a person's feet; I had missed the feeling of bloody victory.

But how silly of him, I wasn't going to kill anyone anytime soon. I threw the knife over my shoulder (not too far away, of course; it was evidence) and picked up one of the crumbling bricks from the sidelines. Hefting its weight, I tossed it up and caught it with an approving nod.

Without warning, I threw it against the wall. The man shouted and flinched, but I ignored him. I walked over to the corners of the narrow passageway and eyed the crushed beetle. I gave it a sad smile as it fell. None of its brethren were close enough to see the incident.

"I'm so sorry." I said, watching it fall down a small canal that led to a dark drain. One problem was solved.

When I turned back to the path, I wasn't too surprised to find my assaulter-turned-assaultee attempting to escape, though it did bother me a little. Sighing, I crumpled to the floor near my groceries and waited, counting verbally under my breath.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

The bloodied man froze. I painted a flawless expression of unadulterated horror into my face. "H-Here!" I shouted, letting my voice crack unpleasantly. "I'm h-here! Please, help, he's g-getting away!"

A tall boy with a hair style resembling Elvis Presley's entered my line of vision. His dark eyes zeroed in on the pathetic man that was actually more of a heap of crawling flesh on the ground, before they trailed further onto my trembling form.

With a grunt, he put down his plastic bag of cabbage and kicked the thief on the ribs. The man cried out. "Lowlife." The boy cursed. Judging by the hair cut and the gakuran, he was a DC member. I searched my mind for his name and came up with it eventually: Kusakabe something. He was reportedly Hibari's cousin, but relation or no relation, what mattered was that he was loyal to the DC leader.

Two more associates of the Disciple Committee jumped down from above, landing soundly in a squat. Under two seconds flat, the criminal was apprehended, and the first boy helped me up, dusting my skirt.

"Are you okay, Ma'am?" He asked, eying my reddening foot. "One of the vendors pointed out that you took this path, and-"

"I know." I cut him off, adding in a touch of hysteria into my voice. "I know. I know. I can t-tell. The pretty cabbage girl. A good one, at that, I should, urg, I should tip her off next time. Definitely. I should. I should. I shouldn't take this path-I—I shouldn't have! And-"

He raised a hand, and I promptly closed my mouth, teeth clacking loudly against one another. "Ma'am, calm down." He ordered firmly. Frantically and wide-eyed, I nodded my head.

"We will deal with the thief; you're safe now." He reassured, pursing his lips. "Do you need some water, or perhaps you would like to sit?" He began to lead me out of the alley, steadying me as I swayed on my feet.

"Mom?! Mom—uh, please let me through, that's my mother!" A familiar voice broke through the uneasy silence, and belatedly, I realized that a crowd had gathered around the entrance of the short-cut alley.

The sea of people parted for Tsuna's fluffy head, and after some encouragements (read: threats) from the DC members, the onlookers scattered and returned to their tasks. I sat down on a stool that was offered by some random man, and then I pretended to slowly collect my wits.

Tsuna turned to the tall boy who came to my rescue worriedly, his brown eyes flashing in recognition. "Kusakabe-senpai!" He greeted anxiously, hands fluttering over me, unsure where to begin, "What happened?"

"Sawada-san." Kusakabe responded with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms. "Assuming from the time frame Hotori-san gave me," Who was Hotori?

The cabbage girl, probably, my mind supplied. I filed away that information for later.

"Your mother entered this path and was followed by this filth," Kusakabe gestured to the subdued thief who was still bleeding heavily from the nose, "She was able to defend herself, but he got to her, judging by the scratches on her feet."

I nodded shakily to prove a point, but my mind was elsewhere. There was something—or someone—missing.

I stiffened.

Where was Reborn?

"That's not true!" The thief protested, struggling against the bruising hold he was kept in. I wondered why he was still there. "She assaulted me first—she's the reason my nose is broken!" He spat in my direction, and spittle flew everywhere. I recoiled, disgusted.

"You lying bitch! You f-cking monster! Go back to where you came from, you lying whore!" He was screaming.

I wasn't really offended, but his voice was grating on my ears.

"You shut up." Kusakabe growled, raising a threatening fist. The thief choked on his words.

"Haul him away. Make sure he gets what he deserves." The two DC members broke out into huge, excited, bloodthirsty grins.

Tsuna shivered but didn't protest.

* * *

After a few more minutes, I finally deemed it the right time to "calm down". I shakily thanked Kusakabe, and then, over his shoulder, the cabbage girl. Ignoring Tsuna's hovering, I led the way back to the house, clutching the plastic bags of vegetables, fruits, and meat.

Reborn met us halfway.

He said nothing to me. I said nothing to him.

In my head, I was constructing and building down a plausible story. I couldn't explain to Reborn (should he ask) the man's broken nose if I said I hit him with my grocery bag. If that were the case, there should have been blood on the plastic bag; he'd find the fault in my story faster than I could say "liar," and his suspicions would begin, mounting and mounting until he would refuse trust me. I could not allow that to happen.

On the other hand, I could say that I flailed and hit the man accidentally, but it would've just been a slap more than anything, and my hands weren't sore at all, so I crossed that out too.

Perhaps if I said that I fell after the thief lunged at me, and then I scrambled away, kicking his face by chance and breaking his nose; the scratches on my leg would solidify it. I would need to get some blood on my shoes.

No, no, the shoe would have left an imprint on the man's face.

In my silence, I layered down detail by detail, double-checking and cross-referencing the story through every point of view I could make, until I almost believed that that was what really happened instead of the truth.

The thief was another story altogether. So many plot holes, he could make.

Meh, it was high time for me to start talking to the police. Once I was done, even Reborn won't be able to strangle answers out of him.

* * *

A man looked up from the paperwork littering his desk like a miniature town (with towering skyscrapers and all that) when two solid knocks shattered the crippling silence inside his office. Cold, steely eyes appraised the door for three seconds, deciding whether to insist that he shouldn't be disturbed, before he put down the slightly-crumpled paper he was gripping.

It was high noon, and the sun was being particularly vicious. His throat ached for water.

"Come in." His voice was hoarse after hours of disuse. The man cleared his throat and once again wished for water.

Two patrolling officers entered, saluting as per tradition. The door shut quietly behind them. The dark-haired man nodded at them wordlessly, and one stepped forward, back rigidly straight. "Sir, the Namimori Disciplinary Committee has left behind a present, with the customary note, as usual." He reported, voice wavering.

The man behind the desk smiled falsely. "Who's the unlucky fellow, then?" He asked lightly, leaning back. His plush leather chair creaked back.

The other officer stepped forward, clutching a folder. He flipped it open and dictated, "Iori Kyo, thirty-nine years old, male, has two records of theft, sir! This morning, assaulted a Sawada Nana," the amused smirk promptly fell from their higher ranked officer's face, and he leaned in, "Attempting to rob her, sir!"

"Assaulted?" The man inquired, narrowing his eyes.

The two patrolling officers shared a baffled look, the sudden stiffness of their superior's shoulders going by not unnoticed.

The braver officer ventured forward hesitantly. "Pointed a knife at her, sir, but Iori got clumsy and was disarmed. Sawada-san reportedly received scratches on her leg, but Iori has a broken nose and a bruised face to show for the incident."

The rigid shoulders relaxed by a minuscule amount. "Ah," the man breathed, a shadow of an amused smirk returning to his face. He sat still for a long moment, before apparently deciding on something. "I see, very well then." He cocked his head to the side. "If the Namimori DC keeps the peace, do not disturb them and assure the Namimori Police Department's complete cooperation should it be needed. I will allow this insanity to go on, should their leader, Hibari Kyoya, not abuse his authority. The two of you are dismissed. Good work."

"Thank you, sir!" The two saluted smartly before turning to left the room.

"Ah, wait for a moment." They stopped, and the room suddenly felt ten times colder.

"Leave Kyo-kun in Cell 77. I will personally deal with him." Their superior requested, voice smooth and deceptively cool. Not wanting to be present during the boss' wake of sudden anger, the two nodded hurriedly and almost tussled to exit the room first.

The door shut behind them, and one turned to the other. "Boy, I wonder what Iori did to make the boss so angry with him like that."

"Best not to question it, mate. I almost feel sorry for the guy."

"Almost. Cell 77's been empty for a long time, and I thought sir wouldn't touch it again, seeing as he took that one job offer,"

"I know, right? I mean, can you imagine facing an entire class of children after torturing some sicko?"

Inside the study, the stifling silence swarmed back with vicious vengeance. Toshio Masahiko gave up on working on his paperwork and instead leaned back and regarded the ceiling with blank eyes, finding its white plainness strangely irritating.

The image of a beautiful woman with gorgeous brown hair and wide, brilliant doe-eyes flashed in his mind. She smiled serenely at him and flashed him the middle finger, and despite it all, she still looked quite like the regal queen she was meant to be in the millions-worth of kimono that he had commissioned for her.

She was a fetching vision in violet and dark blue; a someone who made his heart skip a beat and his stomach lurch to his throat. She was someone who tested his self-control and snapped it in two.

He opened his eyes—whenhadheclosedthem—and let out a short breath: a longing sigh that hurt his chest and made him yearn for something (someone) impossible.

"Nadeshiko," fell from his lips.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Ha, a final update before school starts for me tomorrow! I'm glad I managed to get this out as soon as possible (maybe it was cake I ate) for you guys! Thank you to all who reviewed, read, and added this fanfic to his/her favorites/follows list! I am really grateful for all your support. I'm glad you like Casalinga.

Please, read and enjoy! Don't forget to tell me what you think!

Also, an almost-yaoi scene fought its way into the chapter, but trust me, it isn't yaoi! I swear!

* * *

_"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for." _

_― Bob Marley_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Four

The phone rang twice, and two pairs of hurried footsteps resounded around the house, followed by the sound of furnitures crashing and bodies colliding, with apologies and reassurances coming soon after.

I picked up the phone just as Tsuna tripped on air and fell down the stairs, shouting and cursing all the while.

"Iemitsu?" I breathed into the phone's mic, wiping my free hand on the apron. I had left the fried chicken and the chopsuey in the kitchen, cooked and ready to be devoured.

An irritated grunt responded hoarsely to my question. Definitely not my husband. "You ruin my morning." The other voice croaked grumpily. Without meaning to, my whole body sagged down. Shaking my head with an inaudible sigh, I pressed the phone between my ear and my shoulder, and bent down to help a comically weeping Tsuna up, "It's just you, otou-san." I clucked in disappointment, frowning.

"It's Ojichan?" Tsuna blubbered excitedly, dusting himself with my assistance. I corrected his necktie and nodded, motioning for him to hush.

My old man spluttered on the other line. "Just you, otou-san?" He repeated, mimicking my voice and exaggerating the squeakiness, "Just me? Just _me_? You impertinent brat—and just when I decide to call you after you don't show up for the monthly visit, leaving a ridiculously short message that," His voice rose, and he made that irritating voice imitation again, "Otou-san, I was almost robbed this morning. We can't go. We'll visit next week. Bai-bai."

I exhaled through my nose and rolled my eyes, "I can feel you making faces at me from miles away." I said flatly, holding my son off as he desperately clawed for the phone, wrinkling his uniform. In return, I hopelessly attempted to straighten it out. It was a difficult struggle, because no matter what I did, Tsuna would not stay still.

"Brat, I can feel you rolling your eyes." He barked back, and I sighed again, this time, making sure he heard it.

"Senile fool."

"Soft baby."

Father and I, after my sudden reappearance, grew close. He will probably never admit that he worried for me, and I will never admit that I missed him, and that I was sorry for leaving him. Stubborness flowing through Tanaka veins and all that mumbo jumbo. But he was better than Mother.

Now that I thought about it, I've never heard from her after the separation. I wonder what happened to that woman?

The split moment that I was off to my own thoughts, Tsuna took advantage of—he did have my blood, after all. He surged forward and snatched the phone from my fingers, wriggling his way past me as he stuck out his tongue.

"Ojichan!" He exclaimed through the phone enthusiastically, and I stepped back, sending him an admonishing look.

He grinned sheepishly and flashed me a peace sign.

"Ah, the littler brat."

"How are you? Didja have trouble in the resto?" Tsuna asked quickly, swallowing his words as he frantically kept the phone away from my reaching hands.

Little and light footsteps momentarily distracted me from my quest to retrieve the telephone from my son; a quest that included some rib-poking, empty threats, and black mail. Instinctively knowing who it was, I turned to Reborn who was gracefully walking down the stairs, "Good morning, Reborn-kun!" I greeted jovially, hiding my agitation and apprehension towards him with a charming smile.

One would think that as the Vongola Decimo's tutor, Reborn would question me endlessly about the thief-incident, if not to make sure my safety then to find out how one of his many spies ended up skewered like spicy barbecue and swimming in the town canals.

But he didn't.

He asked after my well-being, and then remained silent and strangely absent for the rest of the weekend. This peculiar quiet on his part extended until Sunday. And now, probably.

Even though I didn't want it to, his lack of action, of movement, of _anything _set me on an edge.

A horrible edge.

He nodded curtly in response and Leon nodded his little green head as well, "Good morning, Mama. How are you?"

"Ehehe!" I laughed carefully, waving a hand in an easy-going manner, "I'm alright. This old woman's stronger than you think!" Oh, the irony, "Now, if only Tsuna'd return the phone to me..." I trailed off expectantly, glancing at Tsuna.

The teen wrinkled his nose and made the mistake of looking at Reborn's direction. Almost immediately, he paled and straightened up, almost throwing the phone at me in his haste, "Here you go, Mom! I'm going to...um...to go to the kitchen! Yeah!" He exclaimed, voice squeaking.

"I'll go with you, Tsuna." Reborn offered monotonously.

"No! You don't have to! Stay there and relax! Have fun! Watch TV! Anything!"

I caught the phone and watched the two argue with dry amusement. I wouldn't call it arguing, really. Tsuna was forestalling his imminent suffering. Reborn was obviously not one to be rebuffed. "Oh?" The arcobaleno muttered, a hint of steel in his tone.

"OhnoI'msosorrypleasecomewithmeI'lldoanythingyousay!"

There was a hint of a smirk in his voice as Reborn effortlessly scaled Tsuna's trembling body with a non-committal hum. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to give the boy's head a rest and instead sat on the brunette's shoulders, "That's what I thought. Move along now, Tsuna."

"Sir yes sir!"

"The hell is going on there, woman?" Father demanded, his grouchy voice muffled as my fingers conveniently covered the speakers, "You running a military camp now?"

I snapped out of my happy trance and tutted, "Hardly. Remember when I told you I'm getting Tsuna a tutor?"

"How could I forget?" He asked, sarcasm dripping off his voice, "For the first ten minutes you decided to regale to me how you would bring the topic up to your significant other."

I couldn't help the smile that split into my face. "You enjoyed that talk immensely, I presume?"

"Pah! The day I will remotely approve of that willy-nilly husband of yours is the day I approve of your willy-nilly husband!" He spat.

The smile fell and was replaced by a frown, "That... doesn't make any sense to me."

"Simply put, since your teeny tiny brain seems unable to comprehend," I bristled, "It will never happen." He explained gruffly.

"Whatever." I grumbled, debating on pressing on the phone's buttons to annoy him, "Anyway, the other voice right now was Reborn-kun. He's a genius infant—he's the tutor, is what I mean to say."

Loud silence replied to my words.

I cracked another smile out, "Did I break your brain?" I asked hopefully.

"You wish, brat. A genius infant? You're crazy." He said, voice tinged with a bit of disbelief.

"It's true. I'll explain next time we meet." An ominous message to warn him off poking his nose into Reborn's business. The sharp intake of breath on the other line told me he understood perfectly.

"I...see." He paused, "It sounds like you're doing good there."

The smile brightened, "I'm okay, otou-san." I said softly into the mic, gripping the cord a little tighter, "T'was just a thief."

"I wasn't worried brat."

I laughed and nodded, even when I knew he wouldn't see it. We exchanged goodbyes and I drifted into the kitchen, lost in thought.

The table was already set, and the two boys had already begun eating without me. I dragged my chair across from Tsuna back and began to hoard the cauliflowers and the little corn from the chopsuey. When he noticed, Tsuna glared at me accusingly, "Mom!"

"What?" I asked innocently, munching on the corn.

"I..." He began, but I pointedly looked at the respective pile of cauliflower and broccoli on his plate. His voice wavered.

I sent him a serene smile.

He admitted defeat easily. "Fine." He pouted, "But leave some for me." He added hurriedly, not to be outdone.

My gaze shifted and I glanced back at the dish to see if there were enough for us.

With no small amount of horror, I realized that the once full-plate was now decidedly empty—bare of carrots and broccoli and shrimp and everything else I tossed into the dish. Tsuna let out a dismayed cry at the sight and twin pairs of brown eyes turned to Reborn, who was the only other person in the room..

The hitman wiped his mouth with a napkin and pushed his plate back, "The chopsuey was delicious, Mama. Cauliflower and carrots cooked just right."

Didn't Reborn have a nasty habit of snatching Tsuna's food away? I asked myself belatedly.

Tsuna and I glanced at each other. He protectively put an arm around his plate, as if reading my mind, while I straightened primly and began eating my food as quickly and efficiently as possible.

This atmosphere, I decided later on, was nice.

* * *

**Gokudera**

"Tsuna, your bag!"

"Thanks Mom!"

"Oh wait, where's that umbrella I bought you?"

"It doesn't look like it's going to rain any time soon, Mom."

"Better be safe than sorry. You sure you don't have homework?"

"Certain. Ninety-nine point nine percent! Wait, I found the umbrella!"

"What happened to zero point one? Put it inside your bag, dear. Reborn-kun, are you going with Tsuna again today?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Oh, good, be careful then. Sawada Tsunayoshi, you will watch over Reborn-kun, understand?"

"Oh, if only you knew, Mom."

"Knew what?"

"Ow, what the heck Reborn!? Nothing, Mom. I'll take really good care of him."

"That's good. Oh, someone's on the door. Get it, will you Tsuna?"

Gokudera hesitated, his grip on his backpack tightening until the waterproof fabric pressed back against his skin uncomfortably. Listening—alright, eavesdropping, really—in on the Sawadas's daily tasks felt... wrong, somehow.

No, he shook his head, clenching and unclenching his hands to relax the tense, almost shaking digits, _wrong_ was not the right word. Truth be told, he liked listening in on the conversation; Tenth's light tenor mixing in with Sawada-san's soft, motherly tone...

His chest heaved, and he choked down his emotions as the silver knob twisted, the chestnut door giving way to reveal the future Vongola Decimo. The small brunette was dressed neatly in the middle school uniform, looking every bit of perfect and ready for the day.

For a brief moment, Gokudera wondered why the Tenth went home all scruffy and roughened up, when he went to school this dressed up. Judging by his complete ease moving in the uniform without messing it up, then this time was no first time.

"Good morning, Jyuudaime!" The silverette shouted, excitement getting the better of him.

Tsuna recoiled, surprised by the sudden burst of volume, and then took one look at him. The Tenth blanched.

Immediately, whatever excitement Gokudera had went swirling down the drain. Was the Tenth displeased by his forwardness? _Dio_, what was thinking!? Walking the Tenth to school?! Of course the Tenth could take care of himself, now, Gokudera just made a fool out of himself and the Tenth wouldn't like him at all!

"I'm sorry, Jyuudaime!" He bellowed, stepping back and bowing as deeply as his spine allowed him to—actually, even further than his spine allowed, if only to show how sorry he was, "Forgive this impudent subordinate! It will not happen again!" He cried, stumbling down the stairs in a hurry to leave.

Before he could even take another step though, Tsuna surged forward—surprising the silverette—and took a hold of his undone collar, pulling him into the house quickly, almost urgently. Their bodies crashed against each other, knees bumping and chins smacking, but the brunette was quick to recover—no doubt the product of Reborn's rigorous tutelage. He gently shoved Gokudera against the wall, a striking contrast to his rougher movements only a moment before, and began pulling off the bomber's messily done neck tie, his brown eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Jyuu-Jyuudaime?" Gokudera squawked, his brain short-circuiting. His hands flailed uncertainly, undecided between keeping still and pushing his unofficial boss away. What-What was going on?

The necktie fell away and the Vongola heir's small, nimble hands began undoing the carelessly crossed buttons of his uniform. Gokudera's eyes almost bugged out of his head as he let out a sound akin to a wail and a choke. For a brief second, he disregarded the fact that Tsunayoshi was his boss, he disregarded their new friendship, he disregarded his manners, "S-Sawada-san, _get off_. What the fu.."

"Tsunayoshi?" Tsuna's mother called, her voice drifting closer, from the room he assumed was the kitchen, "Who was at the door, dear?"

"It's Gokudera-kun, Mom!" The brunette hollered back, finishing with the last button and moving to tug the uniform off his right-hand man. At the fast movement—how was he so quick?!—Gokudera screamed and snatched the fabric back, keeping it on his body. Tsuna grumbled and tugged harder, eliciting more squeaks and chokes from the part-Italian, "O-Oi, teme, what the hell are you doing?"

The fluffy-haired teen gave him an admonishing look, and despite the situation, Gokudera felt almost guilty. But really, what in the world was going on?!

Tsuna took advantage of his momentary lapse of attention and pulled half of the uniform away, wriggling to pull the other half off. Gokudera shouted again in alarm and began scrabbling against the smaller boy to escape.

Footsteps drew closer, and Tsuna's mother, the angelic and always kind woman named Nana, entered the hallway, wiping her hands on a towel, "Why, hello Gokudera-kun—oh!"

At the sight of the older woman, the silverette froze, paling fifty shades of white. He couldn't even begin to think how to explain the situation! "S-Sawada-san!" He cried, struggling against Tsuna's hold as the brunette picked up the discarded neck tie with a toe and bunched up the uniform, "This-this isn't what it looks like!" He bawled frantically, twitching madly in panic.

The younger brunette gave his classmate a strange look and calmly turned to his beautiful mother, smiling hesitantly, "Mother, can you please iron these?" He gestured to the clothing in his hands, and Gokudera's brain short-circuited again.

What.

Not noticing the frozen expression of shock in his friend's face, Tsuna continued on cluelessly, stepping away from Gokudera, "I don't think he did." He added.

Nana strode forward and accepted the garments wordlessly, her eyes trailing downwards to the bomber's pants. "Dear, you'll have to take those off too." She spoke worriedly, gesturing to his pants, "They have unattractive fold-creases. Come on, Tsuna, let him borrow some of your clothes. Give him some of the juice too. I'll set to work immediately."

Gokudera was so dumb-founded that he couldn't even manage to whimper out a single word of protest as Tsuna guilelessly led him to the living room, wondering out loud if his father's clothes would fit the lanky boy.

* * *

I must admit, Gokudera's early arrival was pretty unexpected.

Seeing as school began at eight o'clock and it was only half-past six, I imagined he would drop by at around seven, which was the earliest time at best. I couldn't quite remember if he did walk Tsuna to school in the manga or in the anime show, but then again, Nana wasn't an ex-yakuza member in the manga or in the anime show. Things were bound to change, I thought with some amusement, shaking my head with a quiet sigh.

Which was why my purpose was to make sure they remained relatively the same and on-course. My memories of the past life were getting spotty as the years geared on, but I knew that the manga ended with a good ending. I would make sure that the good ending came true.

I swept the now pristine white uniform off the ironing board and arranged it neatly on a wooden hanger, slinging the finished necktie over it. Onto other issues, I felt concerned for the Storm guardian—his living arrangements weren't satisfactory at all and while he was capable of supporting himself, I didn't believe he was capable of taking care of himself.

While the devotion was appreciated, I did not want him to become dependent on Tsuna. It would be a burden later on, when he's grown up and the Vongola Decimo's right-hand man.

Maybe I should ask him to just damn his apartment and move in to the Sawada residence, I pondered to myself silently, returning my attention to the remaining pants I had to work on. I set it on the board's surface and began the tedious chore of ironing it to perfection. My hands stiffened and ailed at gripping the handle for too long, but it resembled the times when I held my _naginata—_

My chest constricted and I paused, inhaling a lot of air.

Precious naginata. It was named Nagihiko, to match my real name. Nadeshiko with her Nagihiko by her side. Nori often teased me, making a personification of Nagihiko who spoke in third person and hated tomatoes, like I did once upon a time. She said that if only Nagihiko was a person, then I surely would've married him the first time I laid my eyes on him.

_Stop_. I told myself firmly, lips tightening and teeth grinding.

I ran the iron over the cotton material once more and deemed it fit for use. I let the cloth cool for a few minutes as I unplugged the heated tool and began arranging everything I used orderly, willing my thoughts away from the past.

When I entered the living room to deliver the uniform set, I broke out into a soft, pleased smile as I watched Tsuna and Gokudera snicker at something on the TV. They were enjoying glasses of cold lemon juice—a necessary material to calm the silverette down from his panic high.

He had reacted quite comically to Tsuna's sudden assault, misunderstanding the situation and blowing it out of proportions. Epic, a childish part of me crooned in approval. Tsuna's clueless face and my favorite drink were more than necessary to get him to understand that he read the circumstances the wrong way.

Or the right way, that childish part of me added mischievously, but I shoved its voice away, smiling delightedly despite my utmost care to remain mature and serious.

His embarrassment was endearing, I thought, clearing my throat quietly to gain their attentions. Tsuna had a great laugh after he finally realized what his new friend had thought, but after some firm staring and eye gestures on my part, he apologized and promised to warn Gokudera in the future.

Tsuna, if you did not know, has OCD when it came to appearances. The boy would never fix his messed-up room even if I bothered him all week about it—his reasoning was that he couldn't find anything if they weren't messed up, for some unknown reason—but if you even have one thread off your suit, then he'd be howling on your case, desperately flattening this thread or removing it as cleanly as possible.

"Here's the Namimori Discipline Committee guidebook, as you asked, Tsuna." I told him warmly, handing him a thick blue book as I distractedly returned to Gokudera his clothes. "Gokudera-kun, you'll have to follow these rules or else you'd be in trouble with the school. We don't want that to happen." I warned carefully, testing the waters with the other boy's hatred for authority, "I'm sure Tsuna will help you." I added warmly.

The storm guardian gave me a small smile back in response and accepted the uniform gratefully, standing when I gestured for him to. Tsuna gave him a thumbs-up and a chuckle, watching as I led Gokudera to the restroom and motioned for him to change.

When he emerged from the restroom, looking like he did in the morning but with neater clothes, something inside me snapped. Call it a mother's instincts, but seeing Gokudera look so lost at my startled silence...

Before I could even think about stopping myself, I was already rearranging his tie and buttoning the buttons he had left out while changing. I straightened the front of his shirt and brought out one of the unused belts Iemitsu had left behind, slipping it around the loops of his pants.

"Tsuna!" I called, spending a second to give the silverette a reassuring smile, "Hand me the brush, will you darling?"

"Already ahead of you, Mom!" He replied, sliding easily into the picture as he poked Gokudera's forearm, "Let your head fall back a bit, dude. I need to comb your hair." He raised the brush in his hand for emphasis, "I know this is a bit gay and uncomfortable, but man up."

Bewildered by the sudden attention he was receiving, Gokudera blinked twice before stammering, stepping back and pulling his awkwardly set collar away from my fingers. "Oh, S-Sawada-san, Jyuudaime, you don't need to—ack!" He protested, but was cut off when Tsuna poked his stomach in chastisement.

"Do as we say, Gokudera-kun." Tsuna and I chorused, frighteningly in unison, "It'll be over in minutes."

Truthfully, it was.

And then an elegant-looking Gokudera was standing before a satisfied Tsuna and I. In my past life, I had known millions of girls who would've killed to see him like this, but I couldn't find the nerve in me to fan girl. All I could feel was affection and a bit of pity for the boy.

I broke out into another warm smile, waving at Reborn who was observing the scene curiously. "You're ready for school, Gokudera-kun." I chirped, breaking the awkward silence between the three of us, "I've written a note for the DC members to assure the authenticity of your hair color." I added kindly, bringing out a neatly folded note.

A bit baffled by the attention, he wordlessly accepted the piece of paper and examined it, green eyes wide.

Tsuna, sensing the boy's discomfort and confusion, cleared his throat loudly, "Mom, it's seven-fifteen. Gokudera-kun and I should go." He suggested gently, shouldering his bag. I had vigorously cleaned it out yesterday to remove the egg stains, with no small amount of fury and frustration.

A nod of agreement on my part sent them off, Tsuna having to balance Reborn on a shoulder and drag a limp Gokudera's hand at the same time. I remained waving at them from the gate until they disappeared from my sight.

* * *

**Tsunayoshi and Gokudera**

"Sorry about Mom." Tsuna apologized earnestly, letting go of Gokudera's sleeve as soon as the other boy began showing signs of vigilance and attentiveness again. It was quite scary when the usually animated Gokudera blanked out. "She can get a little overwhelming sometimes." He said, clutching the strap of his bag and sending Reborn a sideways glance.

Gokudera shook his head in reply, pursing his own lips. "No, no, Jyuudaime. I didn't find her overwhelming at all-" A lie and they both knew it, but Tsuna wisely remained silent, "It was quite...nice, actually. Sawada-san is a very kind woman."

"She's a good mother." The brunette agreed quietly, deciding that his gaze was unnerving the silverette, "Albeit a little strange sometimes. You'll get used to it."

"Get used to it?" The bomber parroted, confused.

Tsuna smiled, "You're a funny guy, you know that?" He laughed silently, a little nervous, "Since you're my friend, Mom will probably try to smother you with affection. She's sweet like that."

A lapse of silence fell upon the three.

"Jyuudaime is nice." Gokudera muttered underneath his breath, and Tsuna pretended not to hear, a little flattered internally. The Vongola heir decided to change the topic as he lifted the big blue book in his arms, "I'm lending this to you, Gokudera-kun." He stated seriously, handing the thick tome to the silent boy, "And you should read it over night and master the school rules. I'd be really worried if you got in trouble." He rubbed his chin, shivering, "The Discipline Committee isn't known for being all rainbows and unicorns."

The part-Italian raised an eyebrow, mentally thanking Tsuna for steering the conversation to another direction. He could quite tell why, but Sawada-san surprised him. A lot. Almost blew him away with her hospitality. She reminded him of another woman, with long silver hair and a beautiful, loving smile, back when he was younger. And it was wrong, because he knew he shouldn't compare. He was sorry for being so awkward with Sawada-san, but it was just so damn unnerving...

"Why do you say so, Jyuudaime?" He asked half-interestedly, inspecting the book and flipping it open. The pages were littered with side-notes and careful observations, with the occasional loopholes pointed out messily, and the font-size was twelve. His fingers twitched to reach for his hair tie and his glasses, but he didn't want to mess up the hair the Tenth had taken the time to comb.

Gokudera was a little surprised when Tsuna turned to him solemnly, no joking or jesting at all, "The Committee is blood-thirsty. They take discipline to a whole new level, until it's almost suffocating and disturbing." He informed him, staring up at the sky, "I've never actually seen them beat someone up, but it's the truth. They're vicious."

The taller boy smiled reassuringly, "I'm sure I can handle them." He replied confidently, shutting the book with a loud snap. "Is this why you and Sawada-san worked hard to fix my appearance?" He asked curiously, self-consciously smoothing down the front of his uniform.

Tsuna glanced at him and nodded slowly, humming, "Partly. The DC chairman—the infamous Hibari Kyoya—would pounce on you and leave your body in some dark alley if he caught glimpse of you. I can't let that happen; not when you didn't know about the DC." He explained patiently, shaking his head. "While I admire their dedication to keep the peace," His voice lowered to a whisper, and the young teen looked a little frustrated, peeking Gokudera's interest, "The DC controls the school's power, but sometimes Hibari-senpai abuses this power he has over the students. It's...wrong."

"Then let's beat them up and make you the school's power, Jyuudaime!" Gokudera exclaimed heatedly, puzzled by his friend's hesitance, "It'll be over in no time! A few dynamites and, kaboom!" He continued, gesturing explosions excitedly.

He stared at Tsuna expectantly, and Tsuna fidgeted, feeling Reborn's drilling stare too. "No." He replied quietly, "At least, not yet. I know my limitations; I'm not strong enough to fight Hibari-san yet." He said, making a face, "Reborn's training is torture and grueling and excruciating and all, all hail Reborn, but I'm not there yet."

He blanched when Reborn made a note to double his training, but refrained from complaining. Gokudera deflated a little in disappointment, but hid most of it. He would be patient.

Tsuna cleared his throat, dispelling the suddenly morose silence between them, "Anyway, before the conversation got all dark and depressing and tragic about my weakness," Gokudera spluttered in denial, claiming that Tenth wasn't weak at all while Reborn snorted under his breath, "As I was saying, just don't get in trouble in school. I'd be really sad if you're gone." He instructed firmly.

The storm guardian nodded lightly, sighing, "Alright, Jyuudaime." He agreed.

The two continued walking and turned down the corner of the street as they talked about Gokudera's dynamite-suppy schedule, in the process almost colliding into a group of boys due to their inattentiveness.

"A-Ack!" Tsuna exclaimed in surprise, jolting back and falling into a polite bow under three seconds flat, a record to behold, "I'm sorry! It's our fault, we weren't looking where we were going!" He apologized profusely. Reborn quietly hopped down the boy's shoulder, intently watching one of the teens.

"Ah, it's Sawada." One drawled out, smiling politely, and Tsuna sighed mentally, not having the slightest of troubles recognizing the infamous Mochida Kensuke, "No, it's fine. We were at fault too." The Kendo club captain replied coolly, staring down at the brunette who was so tiny compared to him. Gokudera growled lowly, recognizing the demeaning glint in the other boy's eyes immediately, but a quick glance from Tsuna held him back from doing anything drastic.

Gokudera didn't understand—the pathetic fool with the spiky hair was obviously slighting the Tenth, but Tsuna barely batted an eyelash.

"S-Sorry again." Tsuna stammered, straightening, cringing at himself for his stutter. Reborn didn't look pleased at all, but then again, when was the tiny mafioso ever pleased? "We'll be on our way now." He began carefully, trying to find a way around the group.

"How's your Mom?" A rich voice asked all of a sudden, and both Gokudera and Tsuna tensed, eyes zeroing on the one who spoke. It was a tall boy with dark hair, and recognition flashed in Tsuna's eyes.

He forced himself to relax and smile, "Yamamoto-san. G-Good morning." He greeted, unsure of how to properly reply to the question. He had talked to the popular baseball player a few times in elementary, and answered a few questions after the first day of middle school, but they weren't close or friends at all.

The baseball player also smiled in return, ignoring the reluctance on Tsuna's part, "Sawada, good day to you too. My old man heard the rumors going on in the market and in the ports, your Mom was robbed?" The teen rubbed the back of his neck, laughing uneasily, "Haha, I don't mean to be so nosy, but I hope she's fine."

"Mom's okay." Tsuna answered swiftly, almost cuttingly, with a firm undertone of steel in his voice. The group of boys were taken aback by the sudden, one-eighty change in his demeanor, but uncomfortably let it slide, putting it off as something of a one-time thing. Tsuna furrowed his eyebrows, purposely softening his tone, "And she wasn't robbed." He corrected in a matter-of-fact manner, "Almost, but not quite. The Discipline Committee were fortunately patrolling around the market at that time." He explained.

All the boys cringed. "I almost pity the idiot thief." Mochida grumbled under his breath, scratching his spiky hair, "Well, you should get going now, Dame-Tsuna..."

"Yes." The brunette agreed readily—almost too readily—as he bowed again, "It was nice running into you. Good morning."

The two different groups walked past each other.

The second they turned the corner, a swift kick aimed to the head bowled Tsuna over, with the boy yelping in pain and surprise, "Ow!"

"Dame-Tsuna." Reborn said harshly, "Work on your conversation skills."

"I can't help it, Reborn!" Tsuna whined, rubbing his stinging head and accepting the bottle of cold water Gokudera handed him wordlessly, "They used to be my tormentors; it's so hard not to give in to the urge to run at the simple sight of them."

"Dame-Tsuna, you really are no good. Mafia bosses don't run."

A wise expression flickered into Tsuna's baby-ish face, his wide doe-eyes turning knowing, "Not when it's not necessary they don't."

Tormentors? Gokudera thought with a surprised jolt. "You mean," He interrupted, earning him a displeased glance from the Sun arcobaleno, "Jyuudaime is bullied?" He asked incredulously.

Tsuna gave him a deadpan look, "Gokudera-kun." He began slowly, "You've been here for a week. How could you not notice? My egg-stained bag? Those overweight boys chasing me the day you decided to make it rain dynamites?"

The bomber's world came crashing down on him. Those—those puny boys just now _bullied _his boss? And he, Gokudera, was too caught up by his joy and delight of being accepted to notice?

"I...I failed you."

"What? Gokudera-kun, what the heck are you doing ma—wait, no, don't kneel, you'll stain your pants!"

Gokudera squatted, kneeling having been torn out of his choices, though he wanted to do nothing but grovel, "I failed you, Jyuudaime, I am a horrible subor—no, I am a horrible friend!" He cried, dismayed by his failure.

"Gokudera-kun, honestly, stand up. You're blowing the situation waaay out of proportion-" The Tenth chuckled all of a sudden, expression lighting up like a Christmas tree, "Hehe, I just realized, you know, you blow things up, and what I just said, you're blowing the situation out of proportions, hehehe..."

The part-Italian grimaced, and even Reborn's face darkened with shame. "Jyuudaime...that pun..." He started weakly.

The smaller boy's chuckling stopped, "I know, it's horrible." He admitted with an embarrassed flush, "Mom's worse. Now get up. We'll be late for school." Tsuna sighed, pulling Gokudera up forcefully, "Don't be so dramatic. What's done is done. Focus on now, okay?"

"O-Okay..." He swallowed loudly, his hands twitching for his trusty, red dynamite sticks. What he would give to turn back time and bomb those boys faces into oblivion—especially the one that kept on smiling widely. What was his name? Yamamato? Yamamoto? Pah, who cares? Grinning idiot was going down.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Tsuna playfully punched his shoulder, "Not all of them bullied me." He scolded, shaking his fluffy head, "Don't be so reckless now, Gokudera-kun. Let's change the topic; have you done your homework?"

Gokudera nodded slowly, reluctant to simply let the earlier discussion pass, but if it was what the Tenth wanted...

"Yes, I have, Jyuudaime." He answered, "Both the Math one and the Science one."

"Wait, what?" Tsuna exclaimed, surprised, "I thought we only had homework for Math!?"

Reborn shook his head cruelly, "It took you three nights and four days to notice, Dame-Tsuna." He noted.

Gokudera shook his head, frowning, "Our Science homework had something to do with the theories for the Earth's shape before it was discovered to be oblate spheroid." He elaborated.

A stupefied expression flitted into Tsuna's face. Without the needed prompting, Gokudera straightened and opened his mouth, recalling the articles he read about the topic, "First off, there was an Egyptian belief that the Earth was shaped as their gods, with the reclining goddess..."

* * *

A/N: And this, my dear readers, begins the Yamamoto-Gokudera rivalry(ish?). I had to give a plausible reason why Gokudera would dislike Yamamoto at first, so... I hope this was acceptable! I've wanted to insert so many scenes but couldn't find the spot to put them into! And I didn't want Yamamoto and Tsuna to be instant-friends, after all, Yamamoto didn't bother with Tsuna before so why should he unless given a reason?

The whole Mochida-incident hasn't happened, so I've found a way to get him into the fic. He is, somehow, afterall involved with the Vongola in the future, so why not give him a little character to dispel the image of him being just a bully, plainly?

And it makes sense in my head that he and Yamamoto know each other. Kendo. Popularity. The student population would expect them to be friends, and I can just imagine Yamamoto humoring this baseless belief.

Guys, don't expect a quick update after this one. I absolutely hate school.

Anyways, please point out my mistakes and any grammatical/spelling error, so that they can be corrected immediately! Please leave a review and tell me what you think! :D


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Welcome to the fifth chapter of Casalinga! It's been some time,_ I know_, but I'm determined to train myself to write more, so this chapter happened. Thank my teachers. They drive so much analytical thinking into me that my brain literally begs me to write stories.

And. What. The. Frick. Guys. A hundred reviews. Three-hundred follows. Almost-three-hundred favorites. I'm so happy I've forgone typing in all caps. Why am I even wasting space by dilly-dallying? Let's start this chapter! This is more of a filler chapter than anything, but I needed to get this out to get the ball rolling.

Read and enjoy! Please leave a review, and tell me what you think! If any of the characters are acting OOC, please inform me immediately. Same treatment to spelling or grammatical errors. I don't have a beta, sorry.

* * *

"_None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still we go forward. Because we trust. Because we have Faith." _

_― Paulo Coelho, **Brida**_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Five

**Reborn **

Reborn examined the inside of the Sawada house silently, each detail—every single one, from the pale brown shade of the floor tiles down to how many untouched, hidden compartments the cabinets contained (Iemitsu's paranoia making itself known, no doubt)—memorized flawlessly, _perfectly_. He would be damned before he let the slightest shift pass by unnoticed, because shift meant change and change not performed by the Sawadas themselves, in turn, meant trouble. Big trouble.

Trouble that the future Tenth Vongola boss could not yet handle.

Clumsy, annoying mafia heirs with monikers that translated to "no-good" aside, he begrudgingly admitted that despite his careful actions, he found himself settling down quite comfortably in the residence; as comfortable and relaxed as the world's strongest hitman could get, anyway. The decent-sized home had only been his base for the past two weeks, yes, but even with only a little of time's assistance, he was drawn into it.

There were several good explanations for this. First and foremost, his mission, his reluctant student, and, if done correctly, then, his future boss (much to his distaste), resided in the building. Reborn never failed a mission. A brat wouldn't ruin his unstained record.

Another curious explanation, for some unknown reason, was the Sawada homemaker's charisma.

Sawada Nana was a brilliant woman. She was naturally suspicious of him at first, true, but a few white lies and she was easily fooled. She struggled to believe, to follow, and to accept his barging in into their lives—something he regretted a little—along with the strange events that followed it. He could see that she trusted her son wholeheartedly, never hesitating to put her confidence in him, a something he found admirable. Admirable, but foolish.

It was to be expected though—she was a civilian, after all, he couldn't fault her for that—so he kept quiet. Iemitsu chose the right woman to bear the First's descendant; she was easy on the eyes, gifting her son a striking resemblance to the great man who began a vigilante group, now one of the world's strongest, most prominent mafia families. He had known the Young Lion of the Vongola to be somewhat of a laid-back, carefree, idiotic man, so he was a bit surprised when he found out Iemitsu smartly settled down with a nice, quiet, gentle woman.

Her cooking skills also compared to nothing. Reborn had a small hope that Tsuna inherited these skills.

Sawada Nana, for the lack of a better word, was perfect.

Perfect was something he did not expect.

Unexpected was not good.

His suspicions were dampened by the flaws she sometimes allowed to slip through her smiling face—her frustration at being kept in the dark with her husband, for one. Emotional hurt was often inflicted by Reborn, it was a vulnerable weakness he cruelly took advantage of, so he could tell genuine anguish when he saw it.

With dry amusement, Reborn briefly wondered how Iemitsu would react if he found out that his sweet, kind, beautiful wife made the most miserable of expressions after their phone conversations. He pictured the look of absolute horror on the blond's face and chuckled to himself darkly, moving on to the living room to perform his usual patrol.

Tiny feet taking him to the spacious area, he contemplated its pristine state (Nana was a clean freak) for a second, sweeping his gaze critically under tables and couches to check. Just in case. _Always _just in case.

The phone rang, shattering the silence in the house.

Reborn glanced at the land-line sharply but made no move to answer it, discreetly slipping into a tense stance to wait and observe.

Four more shrill rings followed before the phone clicked loudly.

"Hello, you have reached the Sawada residence!" Nana's soft voice greeted gently, the mechanical recording holding no candle to the original woman's kind tone, "No one is around at the moment to answer, so please leave a message after the beep. We will respond as quickly as we can after receiving your message. Sankyu!"

A lone beep followed, and Reborn waited impatiently.

A young tenor flitted through the speakers, the pitch suggesting the identity of a male around the age of fifteen or sixteen, "Nana-oba-san! Good morning!" The unfamiliar voice greeted cheerfully, relaxed and carefree.

The hitman's beady eyes narrowed. _Aunt?_

Nana had no siblings. She was an only daughter—the product of a loveless marriage, he was sure of, because he had searched her out himself. She had pulled out from high school because of her lack of motivation, her parents having just split up, and had worked in her father's restaurant as a serving waitress.

"We heard about the incident in the market," The caller continued, and for a short moment, Reborn's mind flashed back to that event from four days ago—the disappearance of one of his beetles, Nana almost hurt, the assailant disappearing off the records and the face of earth, things being not quite right, and so so _wrong_, "-and Dad gave me the stare until I made time to call, so I'm going to ask now, are you okay? We tried to contact the Namimori police to keep that bastard behind bars, but they won't tell us anything."

Alarmed by the sudden information, his eyes narrowed even further. Of course, he had done some snooping of his own, but never outright asked the officers themselves.

"I know it sounds really bad, the new department head, some guy named Toshio Masahiko-" Reborn jolted in recognition and cursed out loud, "-won't allow us to intervene, so it's better that you be careful. Take care. Please visit if you're able. If not, visit anyway. I miss your cooking, oba-san. If Tsuna's listening, hi, squirt!"

The device clicked a hurried finish, and Reborn deleted the message quickly, his mind working fast.

Toshio Masahiko was a name that had drifted past the Vongola headquarters almost eight years ago. The then twenty-six year old man had been obsessed with justice, something the new recruits often made jokes about, but he was rightfully infamous for wiping out century-old yakuza and "purging" most of Japan's "evil", as he coldly declared in one of his rare (and frustratingly short) interviews.

He had made himself known internationally after killing the Beccio famiglia's informants in the Orient, along with a bloody drug-bust that went down as one of the underworld's most terrible accidents. The Beccio famiglia, despite its small influence, was a powerful ally of the Vongola, and the almost murder of their business was no easy feat, and no small issue.

Toshio had disappeared off the radar a few months later, and it was put down that he had been assassinated by a Beccio famiglia ally, in retaliation. He was forgotten.

And now he was alive. And head of the Namimori Police Department. Coincidentally, Tsuna's homeroom teacher shared his name.

Tsuna, who was the Vongola's heir.

He gnashed his teeth together in frustration—how could he have missed that?!—and glared.

The front door clicked open, and he whirled around in surprise, having not heard the tell-tale footsteps of someone approaching. The chestnut wood creaked loudly, carelessly, clumsily, and Nana's voice cut through the stifling silence, "I'm home!"

Nana, who was attacked by a thief detained by the Namimori Police Department, a thief that mysteriously went poof, no mention of punishment, or sentence, or anything at all.

Nana, who was Tsunayoshi's mother. Iemitsu's wife.

Coincidence?

His glare darkened.

No. Not at all.

* * *

**Tsuna**

The Physical Ed. teacher's patience was commendable, Tsuna thought with a sweat-drop, watching in silence beside Gokudera as the short woman gestured for the class to sit on the ground. A couple of girls complained, saying that their shorts would be stained by the cement if they did, but a muttered remark of "noisy" from his silver-haired friend and a flashing smile from Yamamoto had the females eagerly clambering to find the neatest spot.

For a second, the brunette lamented the absence of Sasagawa Kyoko, and by default, her friend Kurokowa Hana. The ginger-haired girl was one of the nice girls of school he actually enjoyed talking to without feeling flustered or insecure at all, with the bonus of Kurokowa's wit and sarcasm, but today she was feeling unwell, so the two had headed for the clinic earlier.

But then again, he also had Gokudera, and the silverette was more than enough.

After finding a spot in the corner, the two settled down and listened half-interestedly as the teacher began listing off the history of baseball, Gokudera absent-mindedly adding in some facts of his own under his breath. Tsuna was especially fascinated observing the older boy tense when he detected something wrong with the lesson. Gokudera was quite the sight when he fought down the urge to correct incorrect information.

Thirty minutes before the bell would ring, signaling the end of today's school hours, the teacher surveyed her bored class and irritably snapped her lesson book shut. Tsuna jolted, recognizing the annoyed glint in the woman's eyes.

"Since all of you are not listening to me at all," The instructor began testily, her tone biting, "I'll assume you already know and _understand_ the lesson. Please bring out a one-fourth piece of paper and a pen, we're having a quiz."

Dismayed cries resonated around the field, but the teacher dutifully ignored the protests as she blankly watched her students scramble for paper.

"Number one..." She began.

"Wait, sensei! Please wait!"

"Who-"

"Senseeei! Please wait!"

"Oi, oi, what's the date?!"

"D-damn, I left my pen! Arashi, let me borrow-"

"Here you go—no, that one doesn't work, get the blue one-the blue one!"

"Can I have a piece of paper?"

"Me too, Rin!"

"Ugh, bring your own paper! I hate you guys so much."

The teacher cleared her throat, "Number one..."

Tsuna gratefully accepted the piece of paper Gokudera had seemingly procured for him out of thin air, whispering his thanks. At the bright smile he was given in response, he smiled back weakly, hiding a sigh as he tried to remember what had been discussed.

"I don't get this." Gokudera mumbled under his breath as he boredly watched his classmates moan and groan, "Why is everyone panicking? It's just a pop quiz."

The brunette beside him sweat-dropped, but said nothing as the teacher began firing question after question.

* * *

"Sawada and Yamamoto!" The teacher barked much later, eying the Indian file of students who failed her pop quiz, "You will be in charge of cleaning the lockers."

Tsuna deflated in relief, _at least it wasn't the showers... _He thought to himself.

"Orokii and Akashi, you will sweep the field-"

Yamamoto popped up beside Tsuna, nudging him on the shoulder, "Let's go, Sawada." The taller boy whispered loudly, adding another tick mark to the many that littered their teacher's forehead, "I have practice I don't want to miss." He explained, shrugging carelessly.

The smaller boy laughed nervously, painfully aware of the smoldering look the teacher was giving the two of them from the corner of her eyes, "R-Right." He agreed readily, furiously nodding his head.

The walk to the locker rooms were silent, until Yamamoto broke it upon reaching the door, "What was your score?" The baseball player asked curiously, his carefree smile splitting into a friendly grin, "Mine was six." He didn't sound too ashamed.

"Five." Tsuna stuttered, glumly noting that the total items of the quiz was fifteen. Reborn was going to kill him. Kill him once for every mistake. Crazily enough, Tsuna was beginning to believe Reborn could kill him ten times. He had already killed Tsuna once, _technically_. "Sensei s-seemed really cranky, though." He added quietly, twisting the door open and flicking the light switch on.

A single light bulb flickered open, an eerie golden light illuminating the room, and the two examined the gray lockers all arranged symmetrically against the unpainted wall. There were a couple of towels hung haphazardly, but other than that, only a thin layer of dust dirtied the area.

"Hahaha, she must have broken up with another boyfriend!" Yamamoto laughed to break the ice, and strangely enough, it was working. Tsuna cracked out a small laugh despite himself, knowing the stories about the teacher's misfortune when it came to love.

Sharing an amused look with Yamamoto, he shook his head and pulled out a handkerchief, folding it into a triangle and wrapping it around his nose and mouth, "Well, l-let's get to work then!" He started awkwardly, reaching out a scrawny arm to take the nearest feather duster, "You don't w-want to miss practice!"

"Right!" Yamamoto agreed, appearing pleased by the development of their acquaintance. With another smile directed to Tsuna, the taller boy began walking around, pulling out towels from questionable corners and collecting them on an empty basket.

"How the heck did this manage to get in here?" He laughed, bringing out a stained towel from behind the toilet.

Tsuna shrugged uncomfortably but said nothing, eying the brown stains with thinly veiled disgust. He only continued to curiously watch the black-haired boy from his peripheral vision, holding his tongue in check. He had another handkerchief (upon his mother's insistence, he always carried two) in his pocket, but was quite hesitant to offer it to the other boy. Maybe Yamamoto would think he was being too forward...

It wasn't long before the athlete began releasing a string of nasty sneezes.

"Woah." Yamamoto mumbled, rubbing his nose, "This place has been neglected."

He let out another powerful sneeze, covering the lower half of his face.

Tsuna flinched in disgust—bacteria, bacteria everywhere—and gathered his courage, feeling guilty for holding out on his classmate. He put down the feather duster, wiped his palms against the wall with a cringe at the cracking cement, and stalked up towards the sneezing boy. He held up a finger and pulled out his extra handkerchief, "Wash your f-face and p-put this on." He instructed timidly, "Your n-nose is protected this way."

"Learned from experience?" Yamamoto asked faintly, wrinkling his nose in an effort to valiantly fight back a sneeze.

The brunette blandly watched as he failed, flinching when the other sneezed again.

"I'm not questioning your wisdom anymore." The baseball player said in defeat, smiling crookedly as he held out a hand gratefully, "Thanks, Sawada. I..." He trailed off, as if to sneeze, and then continued a beat later, "Huh, owe you—Achoo!"

Tsuna nodded exasperatedly and returned to his work, mutely trying to ignore the trickle of water from the faucet and Yamamoto's relieved sigh that followed a moment later. He only relaxed when the other began to work again, humming a cheerful little tune under his breath.

The silence, while slightly uneasy at first, began to gradually change into something remotely contented, and surprisingly, Tsuna let his guard down, allowing a bit of his cleaning prowess to leak through. Yamamoto said nothing about it, though a few times he laughed quietly while serenely watching Tsuna furiously beat hidden spider webs into submission. Not too long after, they were even acting as if they were friends—as if Tsuna wasn't the school's loser and Yamamoto wasn't the most popular boy in school.

_There was a good reason_, Tsuna thought with no small amount of awe, _why Yamamoto Takeshi was popular. _The good-looking boy had charisma, and he had it in spades.

The door slammed open with a loud bang, the sudden noise startling a shout from Tsuna's mouth. "Jyuudaime!" Gokudera shouted at the top of his lungs enthusiastically, jumping into the room like a sugar-fed child, "Let me assist you-" His green eyes fell on Yamamoto, and the enthusiasm abruptly frizzled into thin air, "It's you!"

Yamamoto blinked and used his forefinger to point at himself, "Me?" He echoed, surprised.

Tsuna scooped up the dust he had managed to remove in the small dustpan and emptied it into the trash bin, calming his frantically pounding heart. "Oh, Gokudera-kun! You surprised me!" He greeted, matching his companion's confused look, "Why a-are you here? Did you wait for me?"

The bomber smiled at him ecstatically, "Of course, Jyuudaime!" He chorused with a glittering aura, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

The sparkling expression did a one-eighty as he resentfully turned to Yamamoto, "Yes, you!" Gokudera snapped angrily, glowering, "You dare push Jyuudaime around, you impudent scu—is that his handkerchief?!"

The dark-haired boy blinked again before nodding slowly, glancing down at the cloth that covered half of his face. It was floral patterned. "Yeah." He answered honestly, shrugging, "He was nice enough to lend it to me." He elaborated, sharing a grin with Tsuna, though the brunette's was more of hesitant and shy than friendly.

"You made him?!" Gokudera snarled, inching closer, waving his school bag threateningly.

Yamamoto shook his head, "He offered it, actually-"

The Storm guardian kicked the door behind him close and tossed his bag at the taller boy, "I'll beat the sh*t out of you, asshole!" He shouted, digging his hands into his pockets, rummaging for dynamite sticks. Yamamoto caught the bag and was torn with what to do with it. He looked at Tsuna, "What am I supposed to do with-"

The brunette wasn't really listening—he was staring at the door in horror. It had clicked. The bolt was outside.

"Where the heck are my dynamites?!" Gokudera shouted furiously, agitatedly checking his pants and torso.

Tsuna paled at the mention of the dreadful red sticks, "O-Oi, Gokudera-kun, there's no need for violence at all, Yamamoto-san was telling the t-truth-!"

"No matter!" Gokudera exclaimed, drowning the other boy's panicky voice, "I'll beat him with my fists, boss!"

The baseball player seemed to think that it was all a joke, as he gladly laughed and put down the bag on the spot Tsuna had cleaned earlier, "Haha, what are you on?"

A thick, twitching vein popped in Gokudera's forehead, "Are you implying I'm high, you idiot?!" The bomber shrieked.

"Tsuna, your friend's so funny!"

"Don't f-cking ignore me!"

"Will the two of you please shut up?!" Tsuna hissed, voice muffled lowly by the cloth pressed against his lips, "I think we've been locked in!" Without waiting for a reply, he pushed himself past the two, separating the fuming silverette from the laughing raven-haired boy effectively, both who were equally surprised by the sudden loss of the stammer.

With great trepidation, he grasped the knob and pulled it.

The door didn't budge.

Tsuna tried it again, but his senses weren't fooling him.

A dying wail much akin to an animal's escaped his throat, "Mom will get worried." He whispered to himself anxiously, brown eyes going wide in terror, "She'll freak if I don't get home by six!"

Gokudera gave Yamamoto one last aggressive growl before turning to his friend, "Let me try it, Jyuudaime." He offered nicely, and Tsuna stepped away with a nod, allowing the intelligent delinquent some space for work. Yamamoto drifted forward too, not noticing the hostile aura Gokudera was giving him as they waited.

Whatever Gokudera did, it didn't work.

"We're locked in." The part-Italian sullenly admitted in defeat.

"Well that's nice! I didn't like practice in the first place!"

"No it's not _nice_, you idiot!"

"Mom's going to go crazy!"

* * *

**Toshio**

There were beetles following him, Toshio noted with no small amount of distaste, his lips curling into an impressive sneer as he turned a corner. The P.E. teacher's useless chatter went into one ear and out the other, figuratively speaking of course, as he wasn't really interested about the tiny woman's complaints with his students. Those brats' actions were of no consequence to him. They could all jump off a roof one by one for all he cared... though the ruckus that it would cause might be troublesome.

The beetles, on the other hand, had just arrived recently, and the History teacher knew in an instant that he was being observed.

Nadeshiko didn't even make it to the options, as while she had nothing against insects, she didn't like them in particular.

The Vongola heir was crossed off. The kid was a bumbling buffoon with feminine looks (his mother must've been so proud) and a killer trigger-finger (the way his fingers twitched was a nasty give away, though his clumsiness could explain the twitching). Potential, yes, but potential still not honed. Still a bit naive, but obviously, he inherited a part of his mother's striking intelligence.

That left Vongola itself.

The only powerful member of Vongola in the vicinity enough to pose a threat?

The silverette smoker didn't count—the tiny boy was hardly a threat, all bombs and not enough fighting skills—so that left Nadeshiko's brat's tutor.

The P.E. teacher looked at him expectantly, and he chuckled accordingly to whatever trash she had just spouted off.

Reborn of the Arcobaleno.

The tiny baby known for his curly sideburns was called the world's strongest hitman. Toshio had never fought him, but Reborn sounded like a challenge. A _good _challenge.

"-shio-san? Toshio-san, are you listening?"

He faced the other teacher with an impassive look, "You doubt my attention to you, Yamisuke-san?" He murmured, raising a single eyebrow.

The short woman wrinkled her nose and sniffed haughtily, "Very well then," She said sharply, crossing her arms, "I said, two of your kids still haven't reported back to me after their cleaning duty. I just wanted to ask if they high-tailed to goof off."

He gave her a dry look and nonchalantly checked his wristwatch, "And you expect me to know this how?" He asked.

She matched his dry look perfectly, "You're their teacher." She dead-panned.

He shrugged and disinterestedly turned to stare out of the window, "I do not understand the relevance. I am not their nanny."

Her gaze turned shrewd, "Aren't you a bit worried at all?"

The question prompted another shrug from him as his gaze trailed off to the field lockers. The lights were still on. He contemplated the thought of punishing some rule breakers and sighed at last, giving in to whatever the other faculty member was hinting at, "Who are these misfits?" He asked her blandly.

The P.E. teacher thought for a second, "Yamamoto and Sawada." She provided after a pause.

Now _that _caught his attention, "Sawada?" He repeated curiously, "He should be home by now." It was, after all, past six. Nadeshiko never did like it when her subordinates reported late—she was always the pessimistic worry-wart.

The woman snorted and checked her watch, "I thought you weren't their nanny?"

He ignored her sarcastic tone and the subtle way she inched closer to him, instead focusing on the window, specifically on the light from the lockers. Aside from the yellowish glows from the field lamps, it was the only one illuminating the darkness of the outside.

"Run along now, Yamisuke-san. I'll see you tomorrow." He said curtly, turning around to head for the fields. He chose to (again) ignore her irritated huff, as there were much much more important matters to deal with.

Alarmed by this sudden development, one beetle strayed from the group to report to its master.

* * *

**Tsunayoshi, Gokudera, and Yamamoto**

"We're stuck here." Tsuna spoke up miserably, hunched over his legs as he huddled in the cleanest corner of the locker room. His thoughts were in a frenzy—mainly, how to explain his absence in dinner because when his mother freaked out, she _freaked out_.

Gokudera winced at his boss' sad voice and spluttered in an attempt to comfort the drooping brunette. Yamamoto, on the other hand, was silently thinking, his gaze turned to the ceiling as if it would help him with his own thoughts.

"Hey, Sawada, this isn't all that bad!" Yamamoto exclaimed a moment later, and Gokudera's head snapped to the raven-haired boy, an angry remark on the tip of his tongue, "This way, the three of us can get to know each other!" The baseball player continued obliviously, missing the dark aura dripping off the silverette.

Tsuna made a miserable noise of confusion, his soul having figuratively left him, but he made another sound to encourage Yamamoto to continue.

Seeing the affirmative response, Yamamoto grinned and stretched, his back and joints popping, "The three of us just never seem to talk, and from what I see, the two of you are really interesting!"

Gokudera tsked irritably, "What's this?" He asked suspiciously, back rigid, "An interrogation? You're a spy, how dare you think you can one up Jyuudaime-"

Tsuna tugged on the bomber's sleeve warningly, cutting him off, "Gokudera!" He urgently whispered, sweating buckets, "Ya-Yamamoto-san doesn't k-know about the..._it_. Please be more discreet and careful!"

The silverette straightened like a military soldier, "Of course, Jyuudaime!" He exclaimed, before seriously turning to Yamamoto, who observed the two of them with a smile and a somewhat envious expression.

The smallest teen of the three blinked and rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing things? Why on Earth would Yamamoto Takeshi be jealous of him, of all people?

_I must be seeing things_, Tsuna convinced himself, smiling at the taller boy uneasily. "Y-You're right, Yamamoto-san." He agreed quietly, retreating from his fetal position, "S-Sensei will eventually notice that w-we didn't report to her, r-right? She'll check." Probably.

The ever-smiling boy across from him cheered and scooted over, but Gokudera agitatedly shoved himself between the two, until the three of them were uncomfortably pressed together. Gokudera's school bag had been sacrificed to be the brunette's cushion (of course, not even paying attention to said brunette's reassurance that he did not need a cushion), while Tsuna's, which Gokudera had taken the time to retrieve before he stormed into the lockers, was treated like the holy grail, pristinely sitting atop a desk.

Tsuna, wedged between the wall and Gokudera—who in turn was squatting between Yamamoto and Tsuna with his elbows digging into Yamamoto's gut—shifted for some relief, but much to his dismay didn't get it. Yamamoto smiled on obliviously, "Let's start with interests, then. Baseball!"

"Idiot." Gokudera muttered.

"Eh? Gokudera, can it be that you're one of the read-shoujo types? Because the smart delinquent and the idiot thing only happens in mangas, you know!"

"What?! _No_, I didn't mean that I was interested in idiots!"

"Haha, your secret's safe with us, right Tsuna?"

"U-Uhm..."

Gokudera dug his elbow deeper into the baseball player's gut, "Whatever, _idiota_!" He scoffed, but then, with flushed cheeks, admitted, "Playing the piano."

Tsuna perked up, "E-Eh?" He gasped, a look of wonder slipping into his face, "You play the piano, Gokudera-kun? That's amazing!"

The silverette cleared his throat, flustered, "T-Thank you, Jyuudaime." He stammered.

Yamamoto chuckled and peered at Tsuna curiously, trying to catch a glimpse of him over the grumpy delinquent's hair and elbows, "How 'bout you, Sawada?" He asked interestedly.

The boy in question hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "Cooking." He said after much thought, flushing at the appraising looks he received after the reveal.

"Wah? I didn't expect that!"

"Shut up, you baseball idiot! Culinary arts is something that Jyuudaime excels at!"

"Y-You still haven't tasted m-my cooking, Gokudera-kun..."

"I'm sure it's great, Tenth!"

Yamamoto cut off whatever praises the Storm guardian was about to spill, "Alright!" He laughed, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, "Sawada, you should drop by at the resto sometimes-" "Are you propositioning the tenth, you asshole?!" "-so that we can cook together?"

At the offer, Tsuna's eyes brightened up, regarding the other boy with a delighted expression, "You cook t-too, Yamamoto-san?" He asked shyly.

The taller boy grinned, "Haha, of course!" He boasted proudly, "My dad owns a sushi restaurant after all—I help out sometimes!"

Tsuna smiled warmly, taken in by the sincerity of the baseball player's tone, honestly surprised by the friendliness from him. "Your offer is very generous, I'll try to, if you'll have me." He replied demurely, thinking of the offer and comparing his schedules.

"B-Boss, I don't think anyone should be 'h-having' you-"

He sighed and face-palmed, "Go-Gokudera-kun, my meaning got lost in translation. I-I didn't mean it _that_ way." He corrected firmly, "I like women."

Whatever the two others were about to say in reply was cut off by a loud click—the bolt being unlocked—and the sudden slamming of the door.

An unimpressed shadow stood on the pathway, his arms crossed and his stare frigidly icy. Tsuna let out a small meep of alarm and clambered up, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, "S-Sensei?"

Gokudera squinted and got to his feet as well. "Who are you, teme?" He demanded roughly of the stranger, wordlessly hauling Yamamoto up by the forearm. The sudden act of friendliness (alliance?) surprised Yamamoto, but he grinned and said nothing, seeing as the smoking silverette had already given him an irritated sideways glance.

A thin book went flying and smacked the delinquent right in the face. "That's sensei to you, punk." The man grumbled, stepping into the room. Tsuna gulped inaudibly and shakily reached for his friends—Yamamoto was a friend now, whether he liked it or not—instantly recognizing the stony eyes and the false smile.

Toshio-sensei.

Gokudera freed his face of the lesson plan and threw it right back at the older man, "Why you-" The teacher caught it silently and fixed an unimpressed gaze at the three, examining each of them thoroughly. He looked around the lockers as well, and then hummed with slight interest, "I was told only Yamamoto and Sawada would be here. Why are there _three_ of you?"

Tsuna took it as his responsibility to explain, "G-Gokudera-kun came to walk with me, sensei." He provided nervously, eyes flicking around for Reborn. Usually the mafioso would be here right now. Strangely enough, there were only the hitman's beetles. "W-We got locked in. S-Sorry."

A single sculpted eyebrow rose in response, "Oh?" Toshio echoed faintly, rubbing his chin, "Is that why you confirmed you are straight, Sawada?"

His mind went blank for a moment. Tsuna blinked repeatedly, uncomprehendingly, "I beg your pardon, sir?" He asked, baffled.

Toshio gave him an unreadable look and turned around, changing the topic, "The school will be closing soon, fortunately for the three of you stuck in the locker room. Unless you wish to spend the night here, then I suggest you retrieve your things and leave." He stepped aside and opened the door for them. When none of them budged—only stared at him with open-mouthed confusion (horror, in Tsuna's case)—his eyes narrowed into slits, "Immediately." He added sharply.

Tsuna didn't need any more encouragements, "Sir yes sir!" He squeaked, grabbing Gokudera's bag and his, and then he dragged along the two dumbfounded boys with him, past the tall form of their homeroom teacher like the wind. Toshio didn't even look back.

"Wow!" Yamamoto laughed once they were a safe distance away, "Toshio-sensei sure is scary!"

The tiny brunette found himself nodding along, letting Gokudera take the silverette's own backpack, while the said bomber scoffed, "He isn't! He pisses me off!" He growled, clenching his hands around the strap of his bag, "What a douchebag!"

_This may just be Gokudera's hatred for authority_, Tsuna thought blandly, sighing, "He's a teacher, G-Gokudera-kun. I'm actually a little happy he let us go without any punishments for our c-carelessness."

"Yeah." Yamamoto agreed, jogging along side the two of them, "Haha, it's kind of ironic—it was Gokudera's fault we got stuck in there."

"Are you blaming me, you sicko?!"

"P-Please don't fight!" The poor Vongola Decimo stuck in between exclaimed, carefully placing both his hands on each of the boys' shoulders, "Y-Yamamoto-san, should we get your bag? Assuming the r-room still isn't l-locked..."

The school's heart throb nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, "Don't worry, Sawada-san! I'm sure Toshio-sensei has the keys!" He reassured.

Gokudera interrupted the exchange angrily, "Don't act so familiarly with the Tenth, baseball idiot!"

_They don't get it at all_, Tsuna sobbed mentally, retreating to his depressed corner, _I don't want to deal with Toshio-sensei anymore!_

Back in the locker room, Toshio appraised the surrounding once more, before deeming it satisfactory.

"Silly hitman." He said to the empty room, his voice monotonous, "I won't hurt your little heir. So don't get in my way."

An idea struck him just as he was locking the door, ignoring the two patrolling DC members that passed by—though he did note to personally approach the committee's chairman to point out the absurdity of his subordinates' hair styles.

He paused in his movements and let the thought tempt him. It would garner more of the Vongola's attention if he forcibly shoved himself into the situation but...

"_What is this... 'yolo' you speak of?" He asked her dryly, wordlessly offering her his handkerchief. All around them, unconscious bodies of a small gang that thought they could terrorize the local pharmacies were scattered, some blood staining the asphalt concrete._

_She glanced at him and ignored the offered cloth, procuring one of her own from the many folds of her kimono sleeves. He wondered for a moment where on Earth she hid the items she brought out conveniently—and how on Earth she managed to keep them—but nonchalantly returned his own handkerchief to his pocket. It had been soaked in tracking liquid. She was obviously too intelligent to accept anything from _him.

"_Yolo," She began quietly, bringing out a small bottle of ethyl alcohol, "Is a term I've heard around." Not quite a lie, but she was hiding something, something important. "It basically means 'You only live once' or something like that."_

"_Oh." He replied dully, intrigued, "I expected that from chili-head, not you." _

_She cracked out a small smile, and almost casually, her rich brown eyes strayed to his cheek. He didn't follow her gaze, knowing already of the long scratch that ran along his skin. She met his eyes for a moment, and then sighed._

_Digging a hand gracefully into her sleeves yet again, she brought out a small strip of a plaster and offered it to him blankly. He stared at it. _

_She shrugged care-freely and placed it on the cleanest spot on the ground. "I'll be taking my leave." She said, "Until next time, Toshio-san."_

"_Masahiko." He corrected off-handedly, but she ignored his correction, exiting the dark alley without another word._

_He knew, he _knew _the plaster had a tracker on it, but he picked it up and used it anyway. As she said, yolo._

He clicked the lock in place and shut the bolt. The sound resonated throughout the serene field.

Turning to the direction where Sawada and his friends scuttled off to, Toshio shoved his hands into his pockets and began to walk.

* * *

A/N: That's it for now! Next chapter is the Yamamoto chapter (dun dun dun), and finally the action is picking up! /relieved sob. Toshio demanded screen time so that I can see who hates him and who doesn't, and the trio are beginning to build their tentative friendship. No Nana POV for this chapter-there will be for the next, don't worry.

Anyway, thank you for reading! Again, please point out my errors! Constructive criticism is very much appreciated!

**Also: There is a poll on my page concerning this fanfic. Please check it out. It'll be open for two weeks before I close it. Thank you! **


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: I worked quickly to get this out, so thank you for being patient! Your reviews were very encouraging—they helped me out immensely! My first grading exams are coming up in a few weeks (dying sobs), so please wish me luck!

I do not own anything except the original characters and the plot.

* * *

"_Knowing too much of your future is never a good thing."  
― Rick Riordan, **The Lightning Thief**_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Six

There were many things I could say I found endearing. Cooking, as a matter of fact, was one. While it was a tiresome task, I immensely enjoyed performing it.

The delighted (and sometimes pleasantly surprised) expressions on the faces of the people I fed were also very good factors. I spent so much of my life making others cry and bleed and suffer, and it honestly it felt better—much much better to make people laugh and smile.

Walking down memory lane was something I too did most of the time, despite my wishes not to. It was wrong, to cling to the past, but the past held memories—memories that _mattered _to me. I was not pretty nor ugly, something of an in-between really, so what made me so proud of myself was my brain. My intelligence. My memories.

One more I found particularly endearing was Tsuna. My clumsy, kind-hearted son. Of course, honestly, how could you expect anything less from me? I was a proud mother.

Aha, but I was also, _also_ very fond of Tsuna when he was in a worrying frenzy. I had seen him worried before, often because of me. There was also this one time when Iemitsu was two days late of his promised return date. The then eleven year old boy had gone on and on and _on _about alien kidnapping and underground secret organizations (he wasn't too far off, my smart son), and upon his father's arrival gave him the cold shoulder.

Right, so where was I?

Ah yes, Tsuna in a worrying frenzy.

Well, it was one thing to see a clean freak Tsuna—but it was a whole other level to witness a worried Tsuna in an anxious rampage. He was simply everywhere, being twitchy and _rambling_, and if not then keeping quiet and being twitchy.

"Gokudera," He fretted, rummaging the contents of the his right hand man's traveling backpack, "Are you sure you have everything?"

"Yes Jyuudaime!"

Having arrived just in time to witness the scene, I chuckled to myself and emerged from the kitchen. After a second of thought, I decided to take the conversation into my own hands before Tsuna spread his jitter to his classmate. Something told me a jittery Gokudera wasn't a good thing.

"You all set to go, Gokudera-kun?" I interrupted smoothly, smiling at the all-of-a-sudden bashful boy. It was fascinating to see Gokudera pull his amazing one-eighty moments.

To his credit, the bomber wasn't too startled by my sudden appearance. He ducked his silver head down and made a bobbing motion of affirmation. An awkward silence enveloped the two of us before he flushed an embarrassed shade of red, belatedly realizing that I was expecting a verbal response. "Y-yes, S-Sawada-san." He mumbled, twiddling his thumbs together, "I'm just waiting for the go-ahead."

The go-ahead?

My eyebrows must have furrowed in confusion because the part-Italian gestured to Tsuna with his chin. The slender brunette had his back turned to us, checking a mental checklist as he examined the bag—for what seemed like the fifth time in thirty minutes.

My forehead cleared and I laughed silently, shaking my head in amusement. "Don't be nervous." I told the silverette fondly, "He's always like this."

A conflicted expression flitted into his face, along with an uncertain glint in his green eyes, but the look cleared as he relaxed, nodding along. He shoved his hands into his pocket and ended the conversation with a quiet shrug.

I amusedly glanced at him from the corner of my eyes—what a messy way to tie off an exchange of information; the boy had much to learn—and decided that it was the right time. I discreetly navigated my way through the living room until I stood right beside him.

Without much fanfare, I handed him a carefully prepared box of bento. "Fast food lunches are expensive nowadays." I explained casually, pretending to miss the shell-shocked way he gaped at the package. Tsuna had woken me thirty minutes early to pour some well-deserved focus on that meal. "I hope you'll like it."

"Y-You shouldn't have, Sawada-san-!" He choked out, eyes as wide as my china plates. His hands were, for the lack of a better word, flailing about. It looked like he was torn between slapping the box away and accepting it graciously.

In the end, he tried to push the box back to me, spluttering out unintelligible words all the while. I easily dodged his clumsy swipes. "We insist." I replied firmly, losing the smile for the first time around him. "Please take this bento, Gokudera-kun. You are basically family now—even if we aren't related by blood, you have been really kind and good to Tsuna and me. It is the least we can do."

Gokudera froze at the statement, comically in a kung-fu pose. My secret amusement only grew at the sight.

Tsuna, in the background, finally straightened and declared the other boy ready to leave, and the Sky-flame User's tenor seemed to snap the Storm Guardian out of it. Gokudera dropped the chop-chop stance and mechanically accepted the box.

I allowed a small smile to bloom back into my face.

With small tremors shaking his hand, he meticulously tucked the bento into his messenger's bag. I made a note to gradually shower him more affection until he got used to it. Being love-deprived without proper guidance and correction later on would cause him some personal problems.

"T-Thank you." He whispered, bowing his head. The shadows hid his expression remarkably. "I will make sure to enjoy it." He swore.

Now that seemed more like him, I thought triumphantly, grinning at my victory. I patted his shoulder. "No need to be so formal around me, kid." I chuckled, moving to ruffle his hair. I decided against it at the last second, "You'll do me a great honor of calling me auntie, if you'd like." I said instead.

He straightened up like he'd been struck by lightning. "Of course, Saw-uh, oba-san!" He cried heatedly, eyes suspiciously misty, "Thank you again for allowing me to stay for the night! I'll be back in two days!"

"You be careful!" Tsuna exclaimed just as heatedly, surprising me with his vehemence. I blinked at the boy—his fist pumped, an intense gleam in his otherwise timid eyes, legs set apart—but said nothing. "Who will be my right hand man-" He froze for a millisecond and glanced at me. I earnestly stared at Gokudera, putting on an indifferent and oblivious air. The boy swallowed and continued with impressive fluency, like he hadn't just blunder, "-if you're gone?"

"Of course, Jyuudaime!" Gokudera mock-saluted with a poignant choke. He took his bag and turned, nodding to me briefly before he left the confines of the Sawada house.

Both Tsuna and I watched him leave through the window, my son even going as far as parting the curtains obscuring the corners. Gokudera's distinct silver hair disappeared completely from sight not too long after.

The shorter boy lingered for a few minutes more, biting his lower lip and muttering under his breath. I rolled my eyes and ushered him into the bathroom's direction. "He's going to be just fine." I assured him gently, trying for an encouraging smile. "Stop being such a mother hen and change now. Gokudera-kun said he's done this a million times before." I scolded with an exasperated sigh. When he hesitated, I went for the kill.

"You promised Reborn to jog with him in fifteen minutes, yes?" I chided, turning to the hitman for confirmation.

The infant looked up from where he was diligently taking down notes—probably about Tsuna's mothering mode, which he would definitely take advantage of, knowing him—and nodded curtly, a cruel shadow darkening his face. The dim lights from the lamps only made him the more menacing, his features sharper and more spine-chilling despite the cherub qualities of his baby face. I had to hand it to him, he was absolutely magnificent with the task of appearing hostile.

At the reminder, my son grew a horrid shade of pasty white. I would've been worried if I hadn't experienced it before, with Katsumi-sama.

The path to strength always isn't the easy one, I mused to myself dryly.

Instead of babying him some more, I sent Tsuna a mental good luck and patted his back. Tsuna was learning many things under Reborn's (im)patient instruction, dodging being first and foremost, and he was steadily improving. I was surprised he hadn't accidentally revealed his ability with firearms yet, though I did catch him curiously staring at the hitman's gun and Dying Will bullets several times now.

Granted, as far as I knew, Tsuna had only experienced the Dying Will Mode once. That certainly explained his sudden 'enthusiasm' for studying—he was trading his cooperation in for information. It was working, too. Even Reborn seemed pleased, in his own stoic little infant way.

With a motivating push from myself, Tsuna hurriedly stumbled towards the bathroom, attempting to (and succeeding) avoid collision with everything on his path. I made a show of laughing silently under my breath before returning to the dining area, setting the platters and the plates.

The sun was barely up, and a frigid cold still lingered in the air, gradually being beaten away as the heat made itself known. It was still early in the morning, when Gokudera left on a two-day trip to restock for dynamite and other explosives.

Of course, that wasn't the story the two boys fed me, because woe was the day Tsuna would willingly tell his mother that his first friend carried around things that could destroy two buildings in a single go and that he was the heir to one of the bloodiest underground organizations in the world.

The principle still stood anyway. Basically, I knew, even though they lied.

This time around, Gokudera's absence was organized. I had signed an excuse slip so that he could retake any tests he would miss during his two days of leave. Tsuna was adamant in supervising every moment of the preparation—the two teens had bonded overnight detailing a list of explosives, train schedules and routes, and other little trinkets Gokudera was more than happy to regale his boss about.

Tsuna was now twenty-seven percent more knowledgeable about items that went boom, if that was what you wanted to know.

_More importantly_, I said to myself as I finished putting up the third plate, fluidly moving to get the chopsticks, _this day also marked one of the important events in the manga_—in _Tsuna's life_, I reminded myself.

Yamamoto Takeshi was a big problem.

I had only met the future Rain Guardian once, when he was a hardly out of childhood. Curiosity had been nigh impossible to resist, and as a result I dropped by his father's sushi shop during its grand opening.

It had been a pleasant affair; most of the people from the neighborhood and the market were present—Yamamoto Tsuyashi, or was it Tsuyoshi, was very kind and accommodating. His son even more so. Takeshi had been a polite, cheerful young boy, boasting his father's dishes and service. I distinctly remember ushering Tsuna to make friends with the other boy—a risky, experimental move to bring their friendship about earlier, but Tsuna had been very shy as a child.

At the present, I knew next to nothing about Tsuna and Yamamoto's relationship. Whether they were friends, acquaintances, perhaps even enemies (hopefully not), I had absolutely no clue.

While Tsuna and I shared a close mother-son bond, there were just things he would never volunteer to tell me. Boys were like that, I've learned through out the years. They were practical, never too excess, and just the right amount.

According to the manga, Tsuna would talk to Yamamoto today, when the baseball player would ask for some advice. Some unknown time later (perhaps the day after?) Yamamoto would jump off the building, only to be saved by Tsuna.

I was scared.

There were several good reasons just _why_.

Firstly, my Tsuna was not the canon Tsuna.

Admittedly, he was close, but even the smallest difference could change the bigger picture. I could only predict Tsuna's actions for so long until it all goes wrong. He could care less about whatever the baseball player got himself into.

This matter, in particular, was going to be a constant problem through out my whole life.

Maybe Yamamoto wouldn't even approach Tsuna. Tsuna hadn't done the Mochida incident, giving Yamamoto no reason to remotely 'admire' the brunette, and what if he just straight up hangs himself or cuts or-

"Mama? Are you alright?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and glanced down at the voice's source. Upon recognizing Reborn, I forced a smile and put down the chopsticks before I damaged them any further. One, two, three, four, five, six, two for each of us three. All relatively unharmed. Except one. One looked ready to snap into two. "Oh, I'm sorry." I said, straightening, "I'm just-" I inhaled and breathed out slowly, counting to five.

"I'm worried." I admitted finally.

"About Gokudera."

It wasn't a question.

My hands fisted the apron of my skirt as a warning to myself. I was dealing with Reborn. Reborn. I needed to think Nadeshiko. Channel a canon Nana.

Pausing for a moment—don't answer too quickly, don't answer too slowly, transparency, transparency was the key—I slumped my shoulders down. I was 'ashamed' at being caught. "Yes." I replied softly, turning to collect the glasses and serving utensils. Don't offer an explanation, I told myself firmly.

"Have some faith, Mama." Reborn replied monotonously. I took a glance at his face and hid a grimace; his face was unreadable.

When wasn't it?

I let my thoughts drift at the sudden silence in the kitchen.

Another reason was the ripples Yamamoto and Tsunayoshi would create. This was the _real _world now. Jumping off a building (if, a part of me whispered cruelly) wasn't just a tiny thing to be brushed off, like it had been in the manga. It would create a scandal, police presence, trauma, media attention, and wary eyes. All the _wrong_ eyes on the wrong people.

Thirdly, this was a life on the line. Yamamoto's life. Yamamoto, who was as real as I was. He wasn't just some character anymore—he was a teenager with social problems that teenagers from my world _had_. He's a _child _with no real friends, unable to find an answer exactly _why_.

I sighed and took three dry glasses, face crumbling tiredly. "Too much faith is bad too, Reborn-kun." I said sadly, noticing that his shadow, as a whole, seemed to grow far longer than what his physical form allowed. It was amazingly terrifying. "Too much is bad, too." I repeated, more to myself.

* * *

**Tsunayoshi**

The short note hastily scribbled on a one-fourth sheet of paper Gokudera left him had been frantically reread eighteen times, and yet Tsuna still couldn't believe his silver-haired friend.

_Jyuudaime_, he imagined Gokudera saying in his mind, _I've left you in the baseball idiot's care. He may be an idiot, but he is capable enough. Tch. I apologize for my inability to accompany you for two days. Please take care of yourself! _

And then he spent eighty seconds staring at the grinning face of Yamamoto Takeshi.

"Yo, Sawada-san!" Yamamoto greeted once Tsuna finally sank down on his chair and began breathing again. It was perplexing, how happy the raven-haired teen was despite the upset look on the brunette's face. But then again, the other boy was always smiling to the point that it was uncomfortable.

Yamamoto leaned forward and lightly rapped Tsuna's desk with his knuckles. "Gokudera was very convincing," He began cheerfully. Translated into normal speak, that meant the smoking delinquent had been very threatening, the brunette thought dryly, smacking his own forehead, "So you'll be hanging out with me for some time! Haha, isn't that great?" The heart throb exclaimed. He was seated on the chair facing the armrest, legs wide apart and arms crossed over the top rail. He was also tilting the chair backwards (forward, in his point of view). All in all, as comfortable as a weasel.

Tsuna wanted to hit something so badly.

Curious heads turned to the unusual pair, the whispers spreading like wildfire. He was more worried with the fact that _what was he supposed to say ?_

Hazel eyes turned sad for a split second. "Unless you don't want to, hah?" The baseball player chuckled, tilting his head to the side.

Tsuna flushed, "Oh no, no no no no no, you got it all wrong, Yamamoto-san!" He whispered, self-consciously shrinking against the speculative stares directed to the back of his head. He shifted uncomfortably and lowered his voice, until he was whispering. "I'm actually happy you took the t-time to actually spend time with me. It's just that, ahm," He looked down and fidgeted, "I'm n-not the most eloquent and friendly of p-people. You're better off without me." He explained with a wince.

The eyes cleared and turned sharp. The grin was back on the other boy's face. "Haha, what are you talking about, Sawada-san?" Yamamoto asked good-naturedly, ruffling the brunette's fluffy hair. He spoke loudly, causing a bit of discomfort to ease up on the eavesdroppers' faces. "You're a nice kid! Our scores even match, hmm?"

The tips of the brunette's ears turned bright red at the reminder. "Y-Yeah, but-" He protested.

"So no complaints, yeah?" The taller boy interrupted smilingly.

Tsuna swallowed and resigned himself to agreeing. Not that Yamamoto was bad company—in fact, Yamamoto was good company—it was just that, well, Yamamoto was _Yamamoto_.

"Okay then." He sighed some seconds later, producing a crooked smile to placate the other boy. He didn't want the other to think that he was forced to agree, even though that was mostly it. The thought of furthering his friendship with the raven-haired boy was not unpleasant, but not entirely comfortable, either. He would just have to test the waters, then. "That is, um, i-if I'm not a bother." He added hastily.

He was glad to see the baseball player's smile turn a little more genuine at the statement. Less of polite and more of honest. True. Tsuna decided he liked the real smile better. It wasn't as big as the ones Yamamoto usually wore, but it held a hint of emotion, emotion that Tsuna identified as human. Being human was a good thing.

For the past few years, Yamamoto had been anything but human in his mind—Yamamoto was always that unreachable, perfect image everyone wanted to see.

Glancing at that little, happy smile again, Tsuna decided that he was very, _very _wrong. Yamamoto wasn't perfect; he thought he had only imagined it before, but now he knew—he identified the little jealous looks he would receive sometimes, the tiny off-handed questions—no, not questions, _reassurances _that they were friends-

Yamamoto, despite being better than Tsuna by a whole lot, had just been as lonely as he was.

But now Tsuna had Gokudera, and Yamamoto was left in the dust.

Tsuna bent forward and gently placed his cheek against the cold desk. He shivered at the cool, and decided that no one should be left alone.

"Haha, now that's the spirit!" Yamamoto exclaimed, retreating the hand ruffling the smaller boy's hair. Tsuna smiled hesitantly and half-heartedly reached up his own to fix the spiky mane he called hair. "Thanks, Yamamoto-san." He said gratefully, smoothing down the unruly strands, "I r-really appreciate it."

Yamamoto rested his chin on his forearm and gave him a close-eyed grin. "No problem, Sawada-san! Hahaha, it'll be like an adventure! We're friends, aren't w-"

There it was, the reassurance-

"Oi." A feminine voice interrupted wryly, and startled, Tsuna jolted up, turning to look at whoever interrupted their conversation.

Dark wavy hair and narrowed eyes greeted him, and he quickly put a name to the face. Kurokawa Hana. Without meaning to, he relaxed and smiled at her familiar presence, pleased to talk to a familiar friend. "Ah, good morning Kurokawa-san!" He exclaimed softly, giving her a small wave, "Is Sasagawa-san feeling better?" He asked politely.

The dark haired girl snorted and sat down Tsuna's desk, sending Yamamoto an inscrutable glance from her peripheral vision. She patted Tsuna's hair. "Of course she is." She answered sharply, smirking, "It was just cramps. Kyoko's a strong girl. It's not possible for cramps to take her down."

"Mmhm." Tsuna agreed quietly, looking over the girl's shoulder to smile at Yamamoto. The other boy was silently observing the two, a polite smile painted on his lips.

Blinking owlishly at the sudden loss of that real warmth, Tsuna cleared his throat, "Um, Yamamoto-san, I don't know if the two of you had met before, but this is Kurokawa-san. Sometimes Sasagawa-san hangs out with me too."

"We've spoken a couple of times." Hana responded dryly, sparing the other raven-haired person another sideways glance. "It's hard to talk to Yamamoto-san, though. He's always surrounded by his popular groupie." She said, shrugging. "Is he bothering you, Sawada?"

Yamamoto's smile turned forced.

Now, Tsuna might be a little slow when it came to the academics, but he wasn't an idiot. A part of him was screaming—his Sixth Sense, he identified mentally—that things would go _wrong _if he didn't interrupt.

So Tsuna lightly smacked Hana's arm, frowning at her disapprovingly. "What are you talking about, Kurokawa-san?" He exclaimed exasperatedly, ignoring her sullen pout, "Yamamoto's my friend-" He smiled at the baseball player embarrassedly, "-and I'm perfectly happy spending time with him! Stop acting all gangster-like. It doesn't suit you."

She rolled her eyes and flipped her hair, "Whatever you say." She scoffed, hopping off the desk. Tsuna cracked a smile at her poor imitation of a snobbish rich kid and Hana mirrored the smile with a dazzling grin of her own a second later, a silent laugh escaping her lips, "Alright then, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this conversation short." She mumbled, "I have to snatch Kyoko away before her boyfriend hogs her all to himself, the selfish prick."

"It's true, then?" Yamamoto spoke for the first time, with a bit of polite interest underlying his voice, "Sasagawa-san is dating Mochida?"

"Yup." Hana replied, popping the last letter of her answer. "Au revoir, mannish baseball player and delicate birdie. Until we meet again!" She turned around and stalked away, bringing out a phone to text her auburn haired friend.

Yamamoto and Tsuna stared at her retreating back. "She's a bit dramatic." Tsuna dryly offered a few minutes later, shaking his head mirthfully. Yamamoto answered with a small snicker, nodding along in agreement, "Haha, you got that right."

The two shared a glance and smiled.

* * *

"I-I don't t-think this is a good idea." Tsuna stammered out, attempting to plant his feet flat on the ground. He failed. Compared to the other boy's developed arms and legs, Tsuna was like a twig.

Yamamoto shook his head and continued to drag the brunette along the path to the baseball field. The two had just finished cleaning up the gym after a failed P.E. class of, ironically, baseball.

"You're being ridiculous, Sawada-san!" The baseball player pointed out the obvious. "Haha, you'll only be watching! And because of that DC thing with Mochida-" The Kendo club captain had been caught skipping class to look for his girlfriend's missing notes, and in return received holy retribution and judgment from the patrolling Discipline Committee members, "-the school guards won't let us out until five-thirty! You have loads of time!"

He had a point, Tsuna mused thoughtfully, but a part of him was still hesitant to observe Yamamoto practice. He was fine with just Yamamoto, but with other people around...

He would admit it; Tsuna wanted to be friends with everyone, but he himself wasn't the friendliest of people.

"Fine." He relented with a deep sigh, realizing with no small amount of surprise that he could not say no to the hopeful face of Yamamoto Takeshi. It scared him a little, but he noted to keep the leash lenient until they become close. Now that would be a good time to discipline.

_That...sounded wrong_, he thought, freezing in his tracks. He vaguely heard Yamamoto make a confused noise, but then he was too busy shaking off the disgusted chills that tickled his spine.

To continue acting naturally, Tsuna trotted along the taller teen, jogging to keep up with the other's long strides. He cursed his short legs and began to bleach his mind of his earlier thoughts. There was no need to think about _that. _

"But...just try to protect me from your t-teammates, kay?" He stuttered, "I know they're not a-all that bad but I'm horrible at s-small talk and sports. Even worse if they're put t-together."

"You don't like sports?" Yamamoto asked owlishly, as if the very concept of disliking sports was foreign to him.

Maybe to him, it was, Tsuna thought with a sweat-drop. He allowed himself to grin sheepishly. "Sports d-don't like me, is more like i-it." He admitted.

"Come to think of it, you always skip out whenever we play physical games in class...if not, you always get injured..."

"You didn't have it to say it." He berated, flushing a bright red, "I-I know how u-unawesome I am."

"Hahaha, unawesome isn't a word, Sawada-san!"

Before Tsuna could properly reply, he was cut off by another voice.

"Yo, Yamamoto! 'S nice to see you came!"

The two boys snapped out of their conversation at the holler from the center field. The whole team already seemed complete, dressed in uniform as they were and stretching. A stern-looking coach waved in greeting, and then pointed to the baseball club room.

Yamamoto nodded and waved back enthusiastically, "I'll be back in a jiffy!" He hollered back.

"Counting on it! Now scram, you're wasting your time!"

Tsuna meekly observed from the side, split between retreating like a coward and trailing after Yamamoto, who was now headed to the lockers. He allowed himself a moment of cowardice before following the other boy to the famous baseball club room—it was like the prestigious hang-out place of popular students. He was kind of curious what the inside looked like. Did they have a flat screen television, like the rumors said?

Tsuna doubted it. Something _that_ expensive in a place where middle school boys had free reign to bats and balls? It was like a recipe asking for disaster.

Maybe that was just his cheap side talking, though.

"Sawada-san, please wait here." Yamamoto requested as he put his bag on a desk and began to head for the changing room. Tsuna was too busy examining the room to give a decent reply—it didn't look too impressive at first glance, but it felt pretty comfortable. Homey, even. He drifted over to a shelf of trophies and stared disinterestedly, biting his lower lip. There was no flat-screen TV.

Distracting himself from getting socially anxious wasn't working, he realized a few minutes later, observing the field's reflection from the glass case.

Without giving it much thought, he gave the window a cursory glance. It turned out to be a mistake, because just as he was moving to examine the baseball players, said baseball players were already burning holes to the back of his head. He flinched with a squeak and quickly turned back to the shelf , biting back a horrified cry—it was humiliating. They were staring at him...like he was an item on display. And frankly, it unsettled him down to his very bones.

Timidly, he scratched the back of his neck and this time actually tried to read the words etched on the trophies, just to kill time.

Faintly, he was able to catch some chuckles from outside. "He's so shy!" One person remarked amusedly, "Like a mouse. It's...cute."

Answering hoots and cat calls echoed all around the field. Another voice rang out clearly, "Don't tell me, sempai, that you're..." Tsuna could feel a pun coming up, "..._batting _for the other team?"

The familiar sound of someone being hit over the head reached his ears. A mortified blush crept down Tsuna's neck, and he bemusedly noted that he was beginning to resemble a tomato. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned in second-hand embarrassment, covering his face with a hand.

"Shisui, admit it, he looks like a girl!"

"Stop being loud, you two. We're killing Sawada-san."

He glanced at the glass's reflection and groaned once more, seeing that one member was gesturing to him. Shameless people.

Not really knowing what to do anymore, he half-twisted his torso around and flailed, "N-No!" He hollered, "P-Please, don't mind me!"

Equally embarrassed expressions sheepishly crossed the faces of the players and they waved back, shouting their apologies.

"You can watch from here, if you want."

Tsuna jerked in surprise—when had Yamamoto exited the changing room?—and jumped, almost tipping over a lamp. With an alarmed shout he reached for it and caught it just in time. He didn't need to pay for something expensive, thank you very much.

Seeing that the porcelain vase was now safe in his arms, he released a relieved sigh and returned it to its rightful perch, smiling hesitantly. "P-Please?" He requested. "I can sit on the couch and just watch you from the window." He suggested lowly.

Yamamoto grinned and stretched his arms back. "Haha, that was what I was thinking! As long as you're comfy, man. Be awed by my baseball prowess as you watch!" He flashed him a thumbs-up and Tsuna eagerly returned it, shuffling to the couch.

The taller boy crossed the room and unzipped his backpack, humming a jaunty tune under his breath. After rifling through its contents, he pulled out a bat (Tsuna wondered how on Earth the other boy could fit it there, but then Gokudera literally had bombs attached to his body) and tipped his baseball cap forward. "Don't let my teammates get to you." The baseball player laughed, opening the door to leave. He flashed Tsuna a big smile, "They're shameless sempais, yah, but they're good people."

A small amused smile made its way to Tsuna's lips. He opened his mouth and breathed out, shifting on the couch, until he sat on a comfortable position. "I can tell!" He exclaimed, eying the team of players loitering outside. They were all older than Yamamoto and he, all almost graduating.

With one last chuckle, Yamamoto gently closed the door behind him and jogged to the field. Obviously, he was enjoying having a friend watch him play. He was enjoying sharing something he dearly loved to someone he liked. That made the brunette really really happy.

Tsuna crossed his arms and laid a cheek on a forearm, letting his head loll to the side. He knew nothing about the game, but it was exciting to watch Yamamoto play. He seemed really happy, even performing better than before, judging by the pleased look on the coach's face.

With a content sigh, he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut.

He was just...going to take...a short..nap..

"Argh!"

Tsuna's head snapped up, his forehead almost bashing against the window. Blearily he rubbed his face, stifling a loud yawn. He blinked once, and twice, and then frowned, troubled.

His Sixth Sense was telling that something was very very wrong. It was unnerving, with the way his chest felt heavy and his stomach felt cramped.

He glanced at the field and furrowed his eyebrows—someone (was that Yamamoto-san?!) was kneeling on the center, clutching an arm to his chest with an expression of excruciating pain. His teammates were rushing towards him, shouting.

Before he knew it, he was already running out the door.

* * *

"You're such a great help, Reborn-kun." I sighed peacefully, shaping the last of the cookies to a pointy star. At the last minute I put a hole in the center. Now it was a shuriken cookie. "Tsuna usually hates getting his fingers sticky with the cookie-making process, so it's a nice change to have someone helping me out." I pondered out loud.

"Hn." The hitman replied, carefully washing the dough off his hands. His own batch of weapon-shaped cookies was neatly arranged on a crispy clean tray. I mentally laughed at the absurdity of the situation—because come on, baking cookies with Reborn? It sounded like a bad cooking show.

Shaking my head, I washed my own hands and put the two trays in the oven, setting it on a timer. My cheeks were caked in flour and my kitchen was a right mess, but spending leisure time with the Sun Arcobaleno was worth it. Unsurprisingly, he was flawlessly good company.

"Now, why don't we clean up?" I asked laughingly, placing one hand on my hip while the other gestured to the counter. There were stacks of bowls already sunken in water to soften the hardened flour, the water browning due to the remains of the chocolate batter. The mixer also distinctly reeked of eggs and honey.

As I moved to turn the faucet on, shrill ringing sounded from the living room, destroying the tranquil quiet the house contained. Reborn hopped to the sink, a small apron fit against his suit. "Please answer the phone, Mama." He requested, motioning to the living room with his head, "I will take care of this."

At his offer, I nodded gratefully and tiredly took off my own apron. "I'll be back in a bit." I promised, drifting to the land line, wondering who would call at such a time.

Only one way to find out, I thought to myself as I picked up the receiver and cleared my throat. "Hello?" I said politely, "Who is this please?"

"Hello, good afternoon. This is Namimori Middle School's principal, Okanao Amase. May I speak to Sawada Nana?"

Namimori Middle School? Why would they call me?

A sense of foreboding made its way to my chest. I forced myself to speak. "This is she." I replied pleasantly, smiling even though no one could see it, "What is it, Okanao-sensei?"

"This concerns your son, Sawada Tsunayoshi."

Dread began to pool at the pit of my stomach.

I hated that feeling.

"What..." I began carefully, a dangerous undertone of pure steel unconsciously making its way to my voice, "What about him?"

The principal seemed to sense it though, because I heard an almost inaudible swallow from the other end. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Tsunayoshi was involved in an accident earlier. He's been accompanied by his advisor and the baseball club to the Namimori Medical Hospital, seeing as the clinic was unable to-"

I slammed the phone down and swiped the brown coat slung over the rack, rattling the piece of furniture with the force I accidentally applied to it. My heart was pounding, and there was this painful feeling of hearing—_feeling_—blood rush to my brain. It was oddly pulse-like.

"Reborn, stay here for now." I heard myself say urgently, voice cracking, not insincerely, "Lock the doors and don't let anyone besides me and Tsuna in, okay? I'll call home and explain once I get to the hospital."

And then I was out the door, pulling it shut behind me, and hailing a cab.

One pulled off in front of me and I fluidly slid inside, meeting the driver's eyes through the rear-view mirror. I think I scared him with how grave I looked. "To Namimori Medical Hospital." I barked, banging the door shut, "Quickly!"

* * *

A/N: This is unbeta-ed, so please, feel free to point out any grammatical or spelling mistakes! Did I make someone OOC? Is it too rushed? Or did it get too unrealistic?

Oh, and, I'm not making everyone who isn't a main character in the series a douchebag. Because people have their own personalities and there are some people who are just nice!

GUESS WHO'S MEETING IN THE NEXT CHAPTER? The hint's somewhere in Nana's POV. Muwahahaha, I can't wait!

Please leave a review, guys. Tell me what you think! ALSO, I am thanking **everyone **for his or her support to Casalinga! Four hundred follows and half-past three-hundred and fifty favorites? This really makes me happy! I didn't expect this fanfic to go so big... /tears

Have a good day!

**Edited: 8/4/2014. Thank you for pointing that one out, Sethera-san! **


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: I love you guys. This chapter is proof of my love. I know it took so long; the average update rate from me is once a month, which is just pathetic, or so my friends tell me. Actually, I had the nine pages done in two days after my last update, but then, as expected, I got stuck.

I own nothing but the original characters and the plot. Enjoy, readers!

* * *

"__A tear, from your mother's eye, is as heavy as the ocean waters."  
― Zybejta "Beta" Metani' Marashi__

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Seven

Impatience could often be told through actions.

To name some for the sake of the conversation, I will give the following: fingers drumming against a flat surface, periodic glances at a wrist watch or a wall clock or any time piece, shifting one's weight relentlessly, bouncing a knee, folding one's arms and looking away pointedly, and so on and so forth; all of them are often accompanied by an angry or unreadable expression. It naturally differs between every person.

The action of impatience I could call mine, as I was once told by amused Asari yakuza members, was this irritating tapping.

Apparently, I tapped my foot with a certain beat, sometimes so perfectly rhythmic and sometimes so chaotically patterned that my colleagues couldn't tell which one was more frustrating to listen to. More than one had remarked on the possibility of my fame if I so desired to pursue the career of tap-dancing.

Of course, this comment earned them the rights to be the receiving ends of a cold, waning, close-eyed smile, but that is a story for another time.

I honestly didn't wish to nettle other people with the provoking habit (because of it, I had been the object of some sharp castigation a couple of times in the past), but as at the moment I was very impatient, I did what I did best and began tapping like a madwoman.

I tapped my foot, and the dull sound of my sandal slapping the rubber mat crudely situated on the cab floor was the only noise in the the vehicle, bar the steady thrum of the air conditioner and the hum of the vehicle's engine. I was ready to form a crater below me, and the driver was doing his best to ignore my glower.

The taxi gave a sudden lurch, and the driver cursed. He honked at the passing students rushing home from school, angrily muttering how it was already night, and I gave him a peripheral once-over. I curled a lip in distaste and returned to watching the buildings run by.

__Tap tap tap-tap tap tap tapatap-tap.__

Just a little more and I could create a song.

At the thought, I paused and smiled humorlessly—my efforts in comedic relief were laughable at best. I was glad, however, than the driver didn't attempt to start a conversation.

I didn't want to snap at the poor man.

My current mood was already affecting his, judging by his rigid shoulders and the fluttery way his fingers kept on drumming against the steering wheel. I took a note of his tendency to drum his digits during a time of impatience, and filed it away, no matter how useless the information was. I needed the distraction.

I sighed and glanced at my wristwatch. Almost six.

There was one thing—and __only one thing__—that I hated the most when my precious people were in danger.

It was waiting.

I crossed one leg over the other and propped my chin on a palm, narrowing my eyes angrily. The humorless smile fell. My reflection faintly scowled back at me from the glass, tinted a cool blue, and I was greeted by the familiar image of Nadeshiko.

She was scowling, her brown eyes gaunt and a quiet fury stirring somewhere behind those dark orbs.

Shaking my head, I blinked twice and looked away, returning my attention to the windshield. Somewhere in the horizon, the traffic light glowed a bright red, and the cab slowed to a stop.

Waiting was absolutely torture. It was slow and strained and excruciating pain, like a bow string taut and held still, waiting—waiting to be released and just kept there for suspense. Waiting when I did not have the time to wait was __unforgivable__.

The traffic light flashed green, and the cab took a careful turn by the intersecting roads—a turn that took it entirely out of the route to the Namimori Medical Hospital.

I glanced at the driver once more, more alert and suddenly angrier than I had been when I stepped into the car. His face was coincidentally covered by a worn, yellow cap, but I could make out a rugged, square jaw and a two-day stubble.

Warning bells rang in my head, much like the wedding bells that tolled in the church when Iemitsu and I married. They fared bad for me.

I uncrossed my legs and gave the other limb its turn to top. My sense of humor was spinning down the drain by the second; the Nana part of me sardonically frowned at my own nasty thoughts.

__Bad, but not unmanageable__, I thought to myself, leaning back and flexing my arms. "Mister?" I began, smiling, with an exemplary tone of ignorance painted to my voice. It sounded so happy it was irritating. "Shouldn't we have gone straight ahead?" I asked.

He glanced at me from the rear-view mirror and tilted his head, jaw squaring stubbornly. Despite the cool air inside the car, a single bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face. I found it fascinating. "There's a short-cut this way, ma'am." He replied gruffly, lying through his teeth, "You look like you need to get to the hospital really quickly."

As naturally as I could get, I nodded and began tilting my head from side to side, working out the kinks on my neck while discreetly scrutinizing the taxi's interior. I noted the absence of the license plate supposed to be displayed for the clients to see. The driver's ID seemed to be suspiciously absent as well. "Okay." I breathed out with a bright tone, adding in a touch of gratitude for his 'helpful' deed.

There was no short-cut to the hospital. I knew that. The day my water broke (signaling the start of a child's arrival to the outside world, for those who are not aware of the ways of the pregnant woman), the ambulance Iemitsu called took longer than thirty minutes to get to our destination—up to the present, I could still clearly remember my husband's unrestrained, panicked shouting as I cried in pain.

The emergency medical technicians were trying their best to calm my spouse down, rather than calm me down.

Mildly irritated by the turn of events that further delayed me from seeing to my son, I glared and waited. __Perhaps I was just being too paranoid__, I tried to tell myself, but my own attempt at comforting words were futile—I could read the situation like it was an open book. I lamented how low a person could go for money, and waited.

I hated waiting.

Five minutes into my silence, I spotted one man waiting by a dark alley. From the tinted windows, I was able to make out him grinning widely.

The taxi cab rolled to a stop in front of him, and the doors clicked open. The driver surreptitiously avoided looking back at me, from guilt or boredom I couldn't tell; either way, it didn't matter.

The other man entered, shoving himself beside me. I moved to the side to accommodate him, lest he sit sprawled on my lap. Now that would be awkward, wouldn't it?

"This is a hold-up!" The man barked, bringing out a small knife as he held open his hand, presumably for my wallet. The taxi driver locked the doors again and drove on wordlessly.

I spared the scumbag (__I seemed to attract them, didn't I? I knew Tsuna had to get it from somewhere__) a small smile of greeting before swiftly seizing the hand that held the knife. I made sure to have a tight grip on it before rotating my arm, twisting the captive wrist completely.

A disgusting __crack __filled the air__.__

He let out a shout that sounded like it really hurt.

It did, by the way. Nori once accidentally broke my wrist while teaching me how to do a cartwheel. I didn't speak to her for weeks.

I shifted forward and pulled him down against the leather seat, squeezing his broken wrist in warning as I dug an elbow to his gut. He kept on shouting, barely fighting back as his nerves focused on the pain that kept on stabbing his hand.

I pried the knife away from his forcefully loosened fingers—I heard several more bones crack but I was in too much of a hurry to tell if I broke more—and slammed the blade against the window, cracking it. Impatiently, I shattered it open with a kick.

The guy needed a bigger exit.

The driver looked behind and squawked, accidentally driving the cab off the lane. "The hell-"

The sides of the car collided against a wall; a hundred red sparks exploded into the air as the ear-splitting sound of metal screeching and tires skidding accompanied the symphony of broken sobs and warbled shouting from my incapacitated 'friend'. The driver cursed, frantically attempting to take control of the wheel.

Following the knife that tumbled out to the street along with the glass shards, I hauled the man up and punched him across the face for good measure, pursing my lips when I heard another satisfying crack. I would have to wipe my knuckles on the seat later; how would Tsuna react if his mother arrived in the hospital with blood-stained hands?

"Asshole!" I snarled, slamming him against the broken window and tipping him out head first. Wind began whipping his face, his greasy hair limply fluttering, and I grabbed his lower back, easily lifting him up until half his body was dangling out of the car window like a rag doll.

"Oi, oi, what the f-ck are you doing-"

I shot the driver a murderous glare, "Stop the f-cking car if you don't want him to die." I seethed lowly, baring my teeth like a furious dog. I could be an angry bitch if I wanted to.

Ha. Ha. Get it? __Get it?__

"A man, let alone a half-dead one, wouldn't survive being thrown out of a vehicle running at 60 kilometers per hour." I licked my dry lips and laughed lowly, entertaining the thought.

He turned back to the steering wheel and slammed a foot down on the brakes, confirming my theory that the other man was, at least, a personal acquaintance. Or perhaps it was just his morals.

Nevertheless, he complied with a panicked curse, but it was taking too long—just as we were sliding to a halt, I pushed the whole body out, not bothering to watch as it hit the pavement with a loud smack. I bent forward and slung my elbows beneath the driver's chin, pulling him tightly against the headrest of his seat. I sensed him raise his hands to beat my arm away, so I pulled back further, until he was choking and writhing beneath me. He had completely abandoned the steering wheel, and it was only lucky that he had turned to an empty street.

With one hand, I squashed his cheeks together, shaking him repeatedly. To make him understand. "To Namimori Medical Hospital, I said." I whispered next to his ear, meeting his eyes through the rear-view mirror.

Frankly, he looked terrified out of his wits. I tightened my hold on his neck, until he was clawing on the leather seat, gasping for air.

"Don't you know how to follow orders, hmm?"

* * *

As I exited the cab, I gave the driver a pleasant smile and a jaunty wave—he was nice enough to give me a free ride once I __thoroughly__ explained to him my situation.

I turned to the hospital's automatically opening doors and slipped inside, barely nodding to the security guard in my haste to rush over to the counter. If the circumstances were anything but my son's safety on the line, I wouldn't have done such an ill-mannered disregard of another hard-working person faithfully doing his part for society.

But the circumstances had my son's safety on the line, so I threw away all the other signals my body was telling me to react to.

Like clockwork, the adrenaline slowly left me, draining off my skin like dripping water. The hospital's cool, clean air hit my skin full force, thick with ethyl alcohol and medicine and illness, and in came the onslaught of guilt.

Inside this cleansed building, I felt like the dirtiest piece of sh-t.

Faltering on my steps, I brushed my hair back with a hand and sighed, overcome by a wave of depression. Even as concerned doctors glanced at my slumped form, I couldn't tell myself to make eye-contact with these good people.

My actions belatedly hit me, and I mercilessly squashed the urge to crouch down and burst out crying.

__Sh-t. Sh-t. I was a f-cking idiot.__

I killed someone.

If the man I practically threw out of the car wasn't dead, then it was a miracle. I hoped he was alive. I shouldn't have done that—I should have been more lenient—ack, what if Reborn __followed __me?!—__aaaah, sh-t.__

I clenched my jaw and stubbornly pushed away the heaviness on my chest; I had to prioritize. Tsuna first; regret later.

"Um, excuse me, Nurse-san?" I began anxiously, leaning on the counter. My fingers tapped the steel surface impatiently. My gaze caught sight of my distorted reflection, and my voice hollowed. "Can you please tell me where the students from Namimori who came in earlier are being held? I'm one of the students's mother; my name is Sawada Nana."

The woman behind the counter nodded and checked a list of some sort, and then she looked up and smiled politely, "Sawada Tsunayoshi, ma'am?"

I nodded furiously, almost bouncing on my feet. She turned to a bulletin board to my right and said, "That's the hospital map, ma'am. He's in Room 80 with his sensei and another classmate getting treated."

After another nod of thanks, I quickly examined the map, spotting the given room (a blue box by the end of a long hallway) as I gripped the sleeves of my coat worriedly. I took to the closest flight of stairs and scaled it in record time, turning to the twisting hallways and corridors and navigating my way easily.

To my surprise, I found a fluff of brown hair seated on the hallway, surrounded by more than a dozen backpacks carelessly tossed into the row of seats.

With the grace of an intoxicated man owning the poorest of alcohol tolerance, I teetered to a stop and gaped at Tsuna.

Tsuna, who sat unharmed, impatiently bouncing one of his legs as he waited outside the treatment room. I dazedly took note that bouncing his leg was his act of impatience.

The weight on my chest vanished into thin air, and I breathed in desperately, only belatedly realizing that I was crying when I felt something wet drip down my chin. Like a broken dam, I let the first whimper burst forth from my lips; one of my hands instinctively flew up to muffle the sound.

His head snapped up at the sudden guttural sobs coming from one end of the corridor, and he startled, giving me a surprised look."M-Mom?" He began, with no small amount of confusion.

"T-T-Tsu-" I sniffled, trying to speak coherently, but my vocal cords weren't the tiniest bit of cooperative. "Tsun__aaaa__." I wasn't surprised that it came out like that.

I thought back on my conversation with the principal and bit back an angry curse, all the pieces finally clicking into place. I acted too rashly—if only I had allowed the dratted fool to finish what he was saying instead of jumping to conclusions!

Oh f-ck. I killed a man for __nothing__.

My knees felt weak—__when did I get so soft, regretting fighting someone who had ill intentions against me?__—and Tsuna must've noticed it, because he stood hurriedly, almost tripping in his haste. I was glad he didn't.

"What are you doing here? And why are you crying? Are you hurt? Is something wrong?" He asked, striding over to me worriedly, his fingers trembling. It must've been a shock—his mother suddenly showing up in a mess of tears and moaning.

Tsunayoshi, for one, wasn't used to me __crying__, of all things. The more intelligible part of me was appalled by my actions: I had hung up on Tsuna's principal, left Reborn with nary an explanation as to where I was going and why (I should have known Tsuna wasn't in danger when Reborn was relaxed enough to __bake cookies__ with me; the mafioso could have planned it all along __and I messed up so badly __I'm cringing in real life), maybe killed a man and scared another half to death, and now showed up in the building like a crying, hormonal mess.

My son took my hands away from my face softly and I ducked down, unable to show him just how embarrassed and guilty and__relieved __I was.

I knew I had to explain though, so I tried to speak as eloquently as I could. "Th-The teachers called me, saying that you were in the hospital, and I t-thought that it was __you __who was hurt and-" I broke off and inhaled, choking out, "I am s-so going to kill your principal for __worrying me to death__. Oh..."

The funny thing was, I couldn't decide if I was joking or not.

He guided me over to one of the chairs and gently pushed me down, removing the clump of backpacks on the way. He knelt down and began straightening the remaining bags, one hand wrapped around my arm comfortingly, "Mom? Mom, I'm fine. It was my classmate who was hurt. Nothing completely life-threatening. I'm fine and dandy, Mom."

"I know." I blubbered, letting out pathetic hiccups, "I can-I can see that. I'm just, oh, I was just, I was just so worried, I couldn't think-"

"It's okay." Tsuna reassured, putting away the last bag and straightening up. "I'm actually here because the person who got hurt was my friend." He spoke, and I was thankful for the fact that he did just that to calm me down. "His name is Yamamoto Takeshi. His father's here too." He glanced at Room 80 and smiled a small smile. "In fact, the school's baseball team is here. All of them. The sempais are so nice."

I perked up, tears suddenly forgotten. "What?" I cried, surprised. "Yamamoto—as in the baseball player, father is a restaurant owner—Takeshi?"

Tsuna nodded in a placating manner and plopped down on the seat beside mine, offering me a handkerchief. I took it and began drying my eyes, sniffling. "Uh-huh." He confirmed, bobbing his head and pulling out a bag from the pile of sweat-scented backpacks. He took out a water bottle and uncapped it for me.

With a last hiccup, I took the offered item from him and took a long swig from it, almost crying again in relief as the cool water slid down my dry throat.

After emptying its content, I took the cap from his open hand and returned the bottle to his bag, tiredly gesturing for him to continue. Tsuna sighed exasperatedly and leaned back, "He broke an arm. But it was clean break though, the doctor said, and it would heal just fine. It's being wrapped up right now."

"Is he okay?" I asked, wiping my damp lips with the handkerchief, "Yamamoto, I mean. Not the doctor."

Tsuna frowned, thinking. In the end, he shrugged. "I'm not sure, but we did manage to get a smile out of him while we took sensei's car to the hospital." The corners of his mouth curled up, "That's a good thing, right?"

I wanted to get the full story, but something told me that an interrogation now would only garner me Tsuna's disapproval. Instead, I settled for slowly constructing the story with 'off-handed' questions.

"Right." I replied softly, shoulders slumped. Thinking quietly, I allowed myself two more seconds of weakness before I straightened my back and patted Tsuna's cheek twice. It still held a hint of baby fat. "I'm glad you're okay, kid." I told him with a small smile, "I'm sure your friend will be as well."

Tsuna smiled back—his smile was frighteningly identical to mine—and opened his mouth to reply, but then the door of Room 80 opened, and a crowd of teens still in their baseball uniforms staggered out, talking amiably. "Yamamoto's going to let me first sign his cast!" One exclaimed hotly, bending down to snatch a bag up. He zipped it open and pulled out a marker.

"No fair! Captain, the saying is, brains before beauty!"

The one holding the marker growled, "No pain, no gain!"

"What pain?"

"Excuse you!?__I__ was the one who had to carry Yamamoto to the car because all of you were clumsy, bumbling masses of flesh and testosterone!"

"Someone record this; Captain is finally admitting that he is gay."

He scowled and uncapped the marker with a loud pop. He began waving it around threateningly, "I'm not gay!"

"There's no need to be ashamed, Captain." I felt a pun coming up. "We're happy when you're __happy__."

A smile blossomed into my face, and I politely turned away. Suitably refreshed, I relaxed by a tiny bit.

"One more pun from that mouth of yours, Souta, and I swear, I will personally rip out your-"

"Stop being loud, you two. We're killing Sawada-san."

Tsuna looked like he was having the biggest déjà vu moment of his life as he snickered under his breath, trying (and failing) to hide his amusement behind a hand over his mouth.

I gave him a raised eyebrow, and he cleared his throat. He gestured to the boys, "Uhm, Mom, this is the baseball club. Baseball club members, this is my mother."

I appraised the crowd of suddenly uncomfortable teens (as all teens were when confronted by an adult) and inclined my head in greeting. "Good evening." The smile stretched wider, brimming with carefully restrained mirth, "It's nice to see a lively bunch of boys squabbling these days."

The captain capped the marker with a single cough, a wave of color flooding his cheeks. I pretended not to notice as I stood up and patted Tsuna's cheek again. "I'll leave you to the situation, kid." I ruffled his hair and adjusted my coat, "I'll be in the canteen if you need me. We'll be going home together."

He nodded with an embarrassed scowl, straightening his hair, "O-Okay, Mom." He gave me a meaningful look, discreetly gesturing to the crowd of quiet boys, and I laughed, nodding. I gave him a final wink before walking away, tugging at the memory of the canteen from the bulletin board and making my way towards it.

"...I thought she was his twin or something."

Tsuna choked. "S-Sempai!" He screeched.

* * *

The hospital canteen was unsurprisingly fairly full of people, so I randomly chose a table and sat down, shrugging off my coat and slinging it around my joined arms. I rested my cheek on the cold steel surface and breathed out slowly, eyes fluttering close.

The relief was welcome. The regret, the worries, and the fear, on the other hand, were not. I furrowed my eyebrows and slapped myself lightly for my own foolishness; all the things I had worked hard for I almost threw out with the wind.

It scared me—how Tsuna was my ultimate weakness. Today was proof. I launched myself head-first into the situation without even a plan, only having his safety in mind.

With this single mistake, everything else would fall like the domino effect. I could feel it. I had to fix it. If not completely, then at least temporarily.

For goodness sake, in two years of inactivity, I perhaps might have killed a man today.

Given, he was trying to kill me as well, but...

I groaned and pursed my lips. My morals clashed with my every being. I was the worst.

The sound of plastic crinkling as it was dumped on the table caught my attention, and without flinching, I opened my eyes and glanced at the person who decided to join me. The scent of paper and ink and gun polish assaulted my senses, and I identified it as male. It was so undeniably masculine—like the way Iemitsu smelled spicy, of dark chocolate and musk.

A plastic full of Shawarma Rice blocked my vision, so I pushed the bundle aside and straightened my head, chin propped and my arms laid out before me. I pulled back loose strands of hair that drifted to the front of my face and squinted at the stony eyes staring back at me.

I examined the Adonis-worthy looks and hummed in pleasant surprise, and maybe, approval. It was wrong of me to relax as I did, but then, this man had been by my side for most of my time in the yakuza—no matter how indifferent I acted around him.

It was hard to forget that face.

What was he doing here?

"Toshio." I greeted quietly, not quite smiling, but not quite frowning as well. "You aged well." I complimented, unable to think of anything else to say. I wasn't exactly lying; the art of Katekyo Hitman Reborn did wonders on the appearance.

I glanced around us disinterestedly and leaned back, the plastic chair squeaking with my every movement. I wished it was quieter. "The ladies are still enamored with you, I see." I commented fluidly, unsure as to why I chose to begin with that topic in mind.

He mirrored my movements and looked around with a bored, if not disgruntled, expression. Almost every woman in the vicinity looked away, their mortified squeaks reaching my ears. He grunted in approval at the abrupt privacy and turned back to me, eyes softening.

My heart clenched, discomfort and fondness forming an indistinguishable mesh in my throat. I cleared my throat and told myself not to look away. "And you're still enamored with me, I see." I added stiffly, partially saddened and flattered by the thought alone.

He nodded just as stiffly as I did—__Toshio and I were an odd pair, that was for sure__—and gave me a once over. "You look like you killed a man and scared another half to death to get here." He stated flatly, as bluntly as ever.

A bubble of hysterical laughter leaked out of my lips without my meaning to. "I may have." I replied airily, weakly motioning a confirmation with my hands, "You know how I get. I had been too careless—the second the principal called, I assumed..." I trailed off, not needing to finish my sentence.

He spared me a dry look and frowned. "You assumed your son was in trouble?"

I shrugged but said nothing.

His lips twitched further downwards; just a little more and he would be scowling. It seemed like we hit a dead end in our conversation.

"Why are you here?" I finally asked, straightening my back with a feline-like stretch. He barely twitched, but he did raise an eyebrow. He crossed his arms, and I mimed his actions. "Funny." He muttered, tilting his head to the side. I couldn't be certain as to what he was referring to: my question or my actions. In the end, I decided on nothing and simply listened.

"I could have sworn I had the little chili-head to call you about my presence here in Namimori." He murmured, so quietly that it was hardly audible.

I caught the hint; someone was watching us.

Stifling another tired sigh, I slumped down bonelessly. I already knew whom it was.

"So how are you?" I asked brightly, summoning the Tanaka charms and sparkles. I flicked my short hair over my shoulder and smiled at him sweetly, "I hope you finished school, unlike I."

Toshio blinked, surprised by the sudden change of demeanor and topic. To my utter shock, a sudden flush of red crept up his neck, spreading across his cheeks and until the tip of his ears. He covered the lower half of his face and looked away, unable to meet my eyes. "I-I did." He stammered uncharacteristically. He fidgeted uncomfortably. "I joined the police force, but I also studied History during college, so I teach when I'm not needed in the force."

"Oh?" I propped my elbows on the table and continued on smiling. "That's very nice, Toshio-san. I'm glad you achieved so much in life. You seem..." I searched through my vocabulary of nice-things-to-say, "...contented." I finished, undeniably lamely.

He searched my eyes for the truth behind my words, wondering if my compliment was a part of the act, but then he knew as much as I did that acts were the best when a touch of honesty was added into them. I softened my look and shrugged my shoulders casually as an answer to his unsaid question. He looked away quickly, like a child caught stealing glances at his first crush.

My heart did a traitorous flutter.

An awkward silence enveloped the both of us, with nothing but the background buzzing of the hospital filling the empty air. After a few seconds, he finally spoke up. "How about you?" He forced out, almost choking on his question. His fingers twitched as he finally removed the hand from his face.

"I'm a housewife." I informed him cheerfully, pretending not to notice the way he tensed up like he had been struck. It was cruel move on my part, but he had to be reminded.

Things had changed, after all. Fourteen years was a long time.

"My husband works abroad as an employee of some construction company, and my son studies at Namimori Middle School." I told him unnecessarily, faking a careless giggle. A sharp pinprick to the back of my neck told me that Reborn had grown tense; my willingness to blabber about my family he considered as a thing to be stopped, and immediately.

Oh? I thought, mentally frowning. Did he know about Toshio's presence in Namimori?

As long as he didn't seem to know about the taxi incident, then I was fine, I reassured myself, attempting to sound convincing.

"Really?" I snapped out of my thoughts and returned my attention to Toshio, who once again looked stony. He had hidden behind a mask of professionalism, and I decided it was high time I did, too.

I clasped my hands together and nodded serenely. "Oh yes!" I answered giddily, not making any effort to hide my pride; it was futile, and the both of us knew it. Before I could continue on, however, my son's voice interrupted the conversation. He rushed from the entrance like Cereberus itself was on his heels.

"Mom!" He exclaimed urgently, almost sprinting to my table. Reborn was notably sitting on his shoulder. I smiled at him as he skidded to a stop beside me, adding in a touch of innocent bewilderment into my expression. "Tsuna?" I greeted back reluctantly. I checked my watch, "Oh, is your friend done? Are we going to go home now?"

"No." Tsuna answered seriously. He glanced at Toshio and pursed his lips.

Toshio, in return, gave me a glance of his own, and the officer sighed, leaning back into his chair. He adopted a bored expression. "Sawada." He greeted none-too-politely, and Tsuna jerked his head forward in reply. "Sensei." My son returned pleasantly through gritted teeth. He clenched and unclenched his fists stubbornly staying by his side, and mentally I praised him for his self-restraint.

"Tsuna." I scolded, lightly swatting his arm, "I raised you to have better manners than that." I looked at Toshio and curved my lips into an apologetic smile, "Sorry about that, Toshio-san. Or should I call you sensei? I was unaware you taught my son. This is a very nice arrangement, though." I pretended to think, "Oh! Right, Tsuna, Toshio-sensei and I were classmates during middle school." I laughed airily for effect.

"Please call me Masahiko, Nana-san." Toshio interrupted smoothly, switching the terms of formality as he folded his arms across his chest. He playfully tilted his head to the side and smirked at something—or rather, someone—behind my head. "We are, after all, friends."

"Alright then, Masahiko-san." I sighed, shaking my head. Tsuna was gaping at the two of us, but then the canon Nana wouldn't have noticed that, yes?

"Reborn, how did you get here?" I interjected quickly, rounding in on the tiny hitman. Tsuna had an oh-shiz-how-do-I-explain-this look, but thankfully, Reborn didn't plan on putting my boy through torture for now. The arcobaleno tipped his fedora forward and answered simply. "Magic." He said, as if the word explained everything.

My eyebrows furrowed, but I giggled indulgently and adjusted my coat. I began to stand. "I'm sorry, Masahiko-san," Tsuna's eyebrow twitched, and for a reason I tried not to acknowledge, Toshio sent him a domineering look. "But I'll have to cut our reunion short. It's getting late."

"You are correct." He agreed, standing up as well. "Would you mind it if I drove you home?"

"No!" Tsuna wailed all of a sudden, and to my utter embarrassment, I jumped at the high-pitched sound. He gripped and pulled at his hair with a panicked expression. "Mom, let's just go!" He blurted out amidst mad flailing, and I mimed a flustered nod, unconsciously allowing him to drag me out of the canteen by the sleeve of my coat.

Belatedly I remembered Toshio, but we were already half-way out of the site, so I didn't dare look back.

* * *

"How is Yamamoto, sweetie?" I asked Tsuna the day after. He rushed home at noon because he foolishly forgot about his lunch while in the process of making Yamamoto the "best bento ever". I was thankful his tutor allowed him to do such a thing—even more so that the Discipline Committee didn't kill him for even looking their way to ask for a permission slip.

They did, however, remark on his foolishness several times; it was written on the back of the permission slip.

__To Whom It May Concern,__

__Please remind Sawada Tsunayoshi to properly make use of his brain in the future. There will not be a next time; if such then we [the Discipine Committee] will use the utmost of our abilities to encourage his mind to function correctly. It will be much appreciated if he will be assisted to think, or he will starve. Please feed him right__.

In my past life, I strongly supported the headcanon that Hibari (and by extension, his army) had a thing for cute things, like Hibird. Tsuna fell under the cute things category.

I laughed quietly to myself; oh, the many fanfictions exploiting just the idea of Hibari's love for cute things concering my son... I once had gone crazy over them.

"Oh, Yamamoto?" He parroted over a hurriedly-done egg sandwich. I pointedly cleared my throat, chewing primly on my own sandwich, and he chuckled awkwardly, finally remembering to make use of his teeth.

Honestly, this boy.

After he swallowed, he downed a glass of water and wiped his lips. "Yamamoto's okay." He told me guilelessly, leaning back. I put on a mask of polite interest, but listened closely. "The bento really did wonders on his mood, though I had to feed him—did you know he didn't eat with his dominant hand?—after the baseball club cheered him up."

"Cheered him up?" I echoed, mirroring his relaxed stance. I put on the Nana-thinking-face. "What did they do?" I asked curiously.

His face broke out into a huge smile. I melted a little, fondly shaking my head as he launched into a detailed explanation that included puns, literal meanings, some cast-signing, the team captain's clutch-personality, and a badly-sung song of Michael Jackson. "You still better watch out for him, though." I heard myself commenting after he finished. He inhaled a big gulp of air. "I dunno, boys like Yamamoto-kun seem very unstable. Maybe he'll be..." I hesitated. "Suicidal?"

There was a bit of silence, before Tsuna broke out into a rather evil smile. "Oh Mom." He began, shaking his head. He cocked his head to the side, and the glint in his eyes almost stopped my heart. "If Yamamoto ever does that, I will kill him. And then the baseball team will revive him, and then take turns killing him again."

I opened my mouth, but shut it with a loud snap. I didn't expect that to come out from my Tsuna.

His brown eyes softened, and the cruelty evaporated from the smile. All that remained was a small trusting twitch of the lips, and even though he didn't care to elaborate, I completely understood.

"If Yamamoto has any problems, then he will talk to me about it." He stated, not arrogantly, but with a wall of certainty behind his tone, as if he knew for sure that it would happen. "And if he needs my help, then he will have it, all the way."

I didn't say anything in reply, only quickly setting to work with the dishes and the utensils. He didn't offer to start the conversation again.

I wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but as I watched him leave for school again, I burst out into tears.

But they were proud tears.

* * *

Thank you for reading the seventh chapter of Casalinga! I hope you enjoyed it; please tell me what you think. This story is also un-beta'ed, so do not hesitate to point out my mistakes. I accept constructive criticism and the like.

Also, to those asking for WHY Iemitsu doesn't know about Nana's involvement with the yakuza, well, this is my answer for you. {TINY SPOILER ALERT!}

I don't want to spoil the future of the Nana Arc (Yes, adding in to the bazzam-load of arcs in the manga, I will be adding an arc dedicated on Nana and the discovery of her yakuza-involvement), but look closely on the name of her former affiliated organization and stem your ideas from there. I won't be confirming any suggestions though.

Anyway, don't forget to leave a review! :D Thank you so much for your support guys! I appreciate it.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: This is more of a filler chapter, sorry guys. I'm quite upset about this one, because our finals hit me hard and my mom kinda broke her leg, so I didn't have a chance to put much time and effort into getting this one done nicely. I really really am sorry, I promise I'll make it up to you in the next chapter.

And, yes, I'm purposely drawing the younger generation's encounters with Nana. You guys have like no idea how much I'm trying to get everyone in character, since the others are going to just steamroll and take over the Sawada household, so I'm losing my shit here. Nevertheless, let's do this!

* * *

"_The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire_."

\- _Ferdinand Foch_

* * *

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Eight

In my defense, I didn't know the two would actually arrive at the same time during the weekend.

I sighed and squeezed the living lights out of the yellow sponge, blankly watching the white foam and bubbles bleed out of it. It even made a miserable tuft-ing sound. Poor sponge.

_Sorry Dad_. I thought to myself. _At this rate, we'll never be able to visit you ever again._

_Miserable child_. I imagined him replying with an irritated click of his tongue.

There was a loud crash somewhere behind me, the sound of shattering glass echoing around the otherwise quite house. I prayed that whatever it was that was the cause of the ruckus, let it not be my mother-in-law's pretty flower vase. It had been a priceless wedding gift before she passed away. Iemitsu would be terribly upset if it were destroyed.

"I left for two days, and you already stole Jyuudaime?!" Gokudera seethed, hunched over the dining table and shaking with fury. Yamamoto raised his single mobile arm as a gesture of peace, but seeing as the silverette continued on glaring daggers at him, the act did nothing to calm the furious bomber down.

A sigh unwittingly left my throat. My housing a hitman was already heavy on the purse; I didn't need two teenagers wrecking more of my property.

(Unfortunately, someone in Iemitsu's division was smart enough to watch out for the cash my husband regularly sends home in the pretense of "construction wage" (yeah _right_), and actually made it look like a construction worker's wage. That meant little-to-no spending for little old me.)

"No fighting, boys." I warned them exasperatedly, making myself seem busy by scrubbing on a particularly big stain on the frying pan. The front of my apron was splattered with faucet water and traces of dish soap, and the cold was beginning to seep into my clothes. I shivered, not from the wet garments, but rather from the sudden drop of temperature behind me.

Gokudera's killing intent was top-notch. More, apparently, when it concerned Tsunayoshi.

I gave the black spot one last vicious scrub before I tossed the sponge into the sterilizing pot and slung my apron off myself. The hem of my shirt was damp, so I wrung it dry.

"Sorry, Sawada-oba-san." The two chorused guiltily. Gokudera immediately tensed and returned to glaring at the baseball player, his lips pursed. The corners of his mouth turned so far down I feared it would reach the Earth's core. "You act so familiarly with Jyuudaime's beloved mother?!" He hissed heatedly, his aura turning murderous.

Yamamoto, for some mysterious reason, remained oblivious to the dark aura manifesting in my kitchen—as the flowers shriveled and as the refrigerator shuddered, he remained the only sparkling creature in the room. I had to give him some credit; even I wasn't immune to that aura.

I shivered again, so I carefully wrapped my arms around myself and contemplated fleeing to the living room.

The anime and the manga were not exaggerating when they noted the competitiveness of these two. It was even worse in real life.

Yamamoto waved his free hand care-freely. "I fell into her claws the moment she opened the door humming the theme song of Samurai X." He admitted cheerfully, grinning at the fuming Storm-flame user. Upon hearing the statement, I felt a bit of shame creep up my stomach; I had done that on purpose, of course, to gain his favor, but then again, it was too late to regret that now, wasn't it?

Gokudera bristled like a half-mad cat. "Nana-oba-san is not some _beast_," He spat the word out like it was the most foul term in the whole of Japanese vocabulary, and despite the circumstances, I preened at the flattery, "with claws. She is a wonderful, peace-loving lady, and I will blow you up should you insult her again, you little-"

His words were interrupted my something—or rather someone—falling down the stairs. I flinched in behalf of my son, who smoothly stood up and recovered like it was a regular occurrence.

_It _was_a regular occurrence._

The four of us ignored Reborn's dark chuckling from upstairs. _What a sadist_.

"No one will be blowing up anyone any time soon." Tsuna interjected sleepily, waltzing into the kitchen. He yawned and stretched, eying the two frozen forms of his friends. After a moment, he snorted and walked past them, automatically heading to the coffee maker, bringing out the ingredients he needed along the way.

I was torn between disappointment and gratitude—the show had been beyond entertaining, thank you very much, if I avoided mentioning the fact that it was also beyond terrifying (geez, I really _am_ going soft, aren't I?)—but I gave up on remarking on anything, dutifully playing the role of Nana. I clogged my mouth of uncharacteristic words and continued on meticulously rearranging the dripping pots. I was making performing house chores an art with the rate I was going at.

Gokudera was the first to force himself to relax, so naturally, Tsuna turned to him first. "Welcome back, Gokudera-kun." The brunette greeted dreamily, smiling at the genius delinquent. Said boy in question turned red until the roots of his hair, and shut his jaw with a loud snap. Mechanically, he sprinted towards the coffee maker as well, snatching the bag of coffee beans from Tsuna's slackened hands, "L-Let me help you with that, J-Jyuudaime!" He squeaked.

Yamamoto drifted over to them at a more sedate pace. "Yo Tsuna!" He greeted, casually splaying his better arm on the other boy's shoulder. "Never pegged you for the coffee type." He commented curiously, dangerously putting his face too close to the brunette's. Gokudera gave him a dark look.

I smothered my laughter. Frankly, the silverette looked like he was ready to snap Yamamoto's remaining usable arm into half.

Tsuna, between the two taller teens, stifled another yawn, clueless to the pandemonium he was unknowingly creating by dividing his attention between the two boys. "I'm not." He answered honestly, rubbing his eyes. "This is for..." He let out the persistent yawn with a wrinkle of his nose, "...Reborn."

"Your sense of awareness is piteous, Tsunayoshi." Reborn quipped, emerging from upstairs like an angel of judgment. He walked confidently, _like a model_, I thought while rifling for the drying towel. Where had I last placed it?

"Good morning, Mama." The hitman greeted, and I half-turned to him, smiling gently. It was awkward when I was bent down while doing it. "Good morning, Reborn-kun." I responded nonetheless, searching for any hole in his mask. As always, there was none. I bit back a frown and returned to my search. I pulled out one of the drawers, and a familiar piece of cloth caught my eye.

Tsuna blinked. "Mama?" He echoed the mafioso, with, as Reborn had said, heart-breaking unawareness. I hid a grimace and let my frustration out with a sigh. "Yes, Tsuna?" I replied softly, reaching for the fluffy white hand-towel pressed to the darkest corner of the drawer. Why was it there?

His eyes flew open, just as his eyelids were fluttering to a close. "Mom?!" He half-shrieked, jumping away from the coffee maker. Lo and behold, Reborn's pearly white mug was already filled to the brim with steaming black liquid. Gokudera was hiding a disgruntled frown, as throughout the process of coffee-making, Tsuna kept on slapping his hand away.

"Tsuna?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mom!?" He repeated, bewildered. He glanced to his left. "Gokudera-kun?!" He glanced to his right, "Yamamoto?!" He took a step away, blinking furiously, "When did you three get here?!" He cried, upset. His eyes swept towards Reborn, who was seated on the table, already digging in on the leftovers from Gokudera's breakfast. "Reborn!" He hissed, "What did you do?"

The hitman, pardon the pun, hit him over the head with a slipper. "Brat, you dare suggest that I have something to do with your poor senses?" The hitman demanded coldly.

"Don't hit me!" Tsuna whined, rubbing the red spot on his forehead. Reborn's beady eyes narrowed into slits. My son back-tracked, and then sighed in defeat. "At least, not when your drink can be contaminated, and, or, spilled." He grumbled, gesturing to the white mug.

"Tsuna, eat your breakfast." I reminded him gently, ushering him to his seat. I took Reborn's morning coffee and gently lowered it in front of the mafioso. "Here you go, Reborn-kun." I chirped, patting his fedora softly. I gave Leon a small pet as well. "Tsuna, don't be rude to your friends." I scolded, rubbing the spot where he was hit. "Gokudera-kun just returned from his family trip, after all. And Yamamoto-kun was asking me to lend you for the day." I mulled over the idea for a second, "Was it a trip to your sushi bar, Yamamoto-kun?"

"Hai, oba-san." The baseball player replied, leaning on the counter. He grinned at Tsuna. "My old man wants to meet you."

Gokudera let out a low keening noise, insisting in broken mix of Italian and Japanese that Tsuna wasn't a girl to be introduced to one's father. _The culture differences must be killing him_, I decided to myself, cringing in sympathy. I patted his arm comfortingly as I returned to the dishes. I had such culture shocks as well during the first decade of my reincarnation. It was all a terrible affair. I could bet that I was one good reason why mother left. I had been a horrible child.

"Perhaps some other day." Reborn interrupted effortlessly, ignoring the sudden prying glint that entered Yamamoto's brown—almost hazel—eyes. Tsuna gave his tutor an unsure glance.

The baseball player gestured to the infant-sized hitman with his usable arm. "Is he your little brother, Tsuna?" Yamamoto asked warmly, closing his eyes to offer the 'little brother' an indulgent, close-eyed smile. Upon hearing this, Gokudera scoffed and made a face at the soon-to-be Rain Guardian's back. "Little brother?" The bomber imitated mockingly, gritting his teeth.

I gave the three boys a bemused glance as I continued slowly wiping the plates of their moist, faking a confused-but-will-not-ask-for-the-sake-of-my-sanity expression. Gokudera's brilliant green eyes bugged out of his head, belatedly realizing that the currently one-armed teen was speaking to the brunette on a first-name basis.

To my amusement, he began to _growl_.

Reborn finally took his mug and sipped from it. With a tilt of his small head, he gave the trio an unreadable look. But then again, when were his looks never unreadable?

"The two of you may stay with Tsuna, of course." He ordered calmly, in the guise of a pleasant offer. I fought back an unpleasant shiver—unlike Gokudera's killing intent, which was wild and unrestrained, spilling out from him in waves, Reborn's was silent, and bone-chilling, and all the more terrifying.

_I definitely need to practice,_ I grumbled to myself, bunching up the sleeves of my dress. I felt so old, around these four. It was sickening.

* * *

"Why did Reborn-kun leave so suddenly, though?" I asked the three boys scattered around Tsuna's bedroom. My son himself was sprawled on the bed, the sheets below him carefully straightened lest he broke out into a cleaning spree. Yamamoto was flipping through the manga collection my son had ("Golden Dreams Gakuen by Hajime-sensei?!" Yamamoto, for the lack of a better word,_squealed_. He and Tsuna shared a wide-eyed glance of connection, and after Tsuna broke out into a flurry of words, Gokudera demanded in on it.), and Gokudera peeked over the baseball player's shoulder, reading intently. He made a tongue-clicking sound every time the school idol would turn a page faster than necessary.

Tsuna swept his eyes from the ceiling and flipped off the bed, hurrying to my side immediately. He opened the door wider for easy entrance, and helped me with the tray of butter biscuits I prepared for the boys. He took the other end and began walking backwards over to his tabletop. "Place it here, Mom." He said lowly, taking his stack of books and placing them below the expensive Ash-wood desk. I gave him a grateful smile as I lowered the food gently.

"He said he had to fetch someone." Gokudera answered me distractedly, letting out a noise of protest when Yamamoto began to turn a page. The baseball player quickly stopped. With a sigh, Yamamoto turned his head towards me, "Ah, Sawada-oba-san." He smiled, and a bubbly feeling remarkably alike to fangirling fluttered in my chest. "I forgot to thank you for coming to the hospital a few days ago. I would have been very upset if Tsuna had to go home alone."

"Shh." Gokudera shushed him irately. Yamamoto rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but continued on smiling at me.

"It was my obligation." I answered him humbly, inclining my head. "Tsunayoshi is my son. You are his friend. I wouldn't have hesitated." I half-lied, smoothing out the crease of my skirt. The stab of guilt in my chest stung.

Filled by a desperate need to change the topic, I looked around Tsuna's room. A single suitcase by the corner caught my eye. "Whose is that?" I asked the boys a bit too loudly, squinting at the object.

Tsuna turned his head to look at it and shrugged his narrow shoulders dismissively. His fingers hovered above the tray, and he eyed its contents contemplatively, licking his lips. "That's Reborn's, Mom." He answered, not hesitating to swipe two biscuits for himself. I gave him a berating flutter of my eyelashes, and with a duck of his head under my scolding eyes, he begrudgingly gave his two friends a chance for the treats. "Come on, guys." He invited gruffly, pouting at me. I remained immune to his puppy eyes—he got it from _me_, for pete's sake.

"Before I eat it all." He continued sulkily.

Yamamoto tried to move, but he tensed up in a second flat. "I can't move." Yamamoto mouthed over Gokudera's silver head, as the silverette was almost pinning him to the floor with a tremendous effort to get closer to the second volume of Golden Dreams Gakuen. _It was indirect fan service_, I realized quickly, momentarily floored by the sudden yaoi moment. My heart made a pleased flutter of approval, and I quickly turned away, covering my mouth. I screamed silently, and then composed myself like nothing had happened.

The sight would have looked more romantic if Yamamoto wasn't breaking out in cold sweat, though. (I didn't blame him.)

Tsuna didn't look too bothered, having not noticed the fan-girl moment his mother had just had. "More for me." He cheered gleefully.

Huffing fondly, I gave him the go signal—a shooing motion with my fingers—and moved to take the arcobaleno's suitcase so that I could set it aside somewhere where it was safe. It wouldn't do for it to just lie around, waiting to be touched by clueless children. If I recalled correctly, the case itself was like a weapon of mass destruction (or a head-chopper, but either would do, really). You never knew with Reborn.

As the tips of my hands were a hair's breath away from the shiny black covering, a small weight landed on my head, my assailant earning a surprised squeak from my mouth. I swayed back to balance myself and automatically reached both my arms up—seizing whatever it was that decided to make a throne of my head.

I wrenched it off me and leveled the offending object a narrowed look. When a pair of beady eyes stared back at me unblinkingly, I softened my grip and let out a sigh, barely covering up my shock. "Oh, Reborn-kun." I grumbled, setting him down gently. "You startled me. I could have batted you away, you know. It would've been very painful."

"Blasphemy, Mama." He replied dismissively, brushing the front of his suit. "I brought a friend, back. You might want to see to the door."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. I adopted a curious expression. "You did?" I echoed airily, placing a finger on my chin. I gave the arcobaleno an indulgent smile and met Tsuna's eyes overhead, displaying Nana's oblivious amusement for the situation. He returned it, albeit weakly, because he _knew _more than anyone else, probably, that my actions were of an idiot's.

But which was more foolish, really? Pretending to be an idiot in the face of the world's strongest hitman, or being an idiot all the same?

"Oh well." I sighed, stretching my back. It was embarrassing to acknowledge, but old joints croaked and groaned. I hid an annoyed grimace with another well-placed smile. "I'll just go and answer that then, dears." I chirped, gesturing downstairs. "You boys enjoy yourselves." I called over my shoulder as I turned, exiting the room in three fluid strides. Just as the door shut close, I caught what-would-be the beginning of another one of Tsuna's famous rants; whatever the infant Sun Flame User's words of reply were, I didn't catch anymore because I began to drift away, lumbering down the stairs with a wordless song bursting from my lips.

I ambled towards the door and opened it warily, discreet enough to hide every suspicious move with a sparkling face. "Good morning!" I greeted the person on our doorstep, adding in a touch of confusion to my voice. "Can I help you with anything—oh!" My smile fell and I blinked twice, taking in the new person's appearance. "Sasagawa-san? What are you doing here?" I asked, baffled.

The pretty, auburn-haired girl blushed and waved nervously, fluttering her fingers at me oddly. "Good morning, Sawada-san!" Kyoko twittered, giving me a familiar—if a bit skittish—smile. Unconsciously, the corners of my lips quirked up to imitate it. The flowers and the sparkles she brought around with her, I instinctively summoned up as well.

The two of us smiled at each other—my expression being somewhat empty, overshadowed by the geniality behind Kyoko's purity.

My smile faltered, and I flinched away, backing up a bit as an innate reaction. Against the innocence that was the teenager—who was compared to be strikingly similar to me, Nana—my expression was painstakingly hollow. A strange pit of defeat began to build up in my stomach, giving my mouth a bitter aftertaste. I remembered to swallow—my throat was very dry.

Her smile began to strain with a string of uncertainty as the seconds passed, nothing but complete silence settling between us. I painted another smile into my face, this time, making sure to add in a hospitable and sunny touch. To allow her entrance, I sharply pulled the door back, freeing the doorknob I had been tightly gripping. I wiped my hands and met her reluctant gaze. I directed to her that smile, careful to keep it from turning shark-like.

Perhaps I had opened the door a bit more sharply than necessary.

"Why, it's certain a surprise, Sasagawa-chan. Did you perhaps want to talk to Tsuna?" I asked warmly, ushering her in. I pushed the door and set the crookedly arranged floor mat straight.

Kyoko examined the house curiously, before returning her attention to me. I waited patiently, half-heartedly listening for any of the boys' activities upstairs. When she finally gathered her wits, the doe-eyed sweetheart pinned her hair back behind her ear and nodded slowly, lips slowly slanting into crooked half-smile. "Yes, Sawada-san." She confirmed shyly, breaking our eye-contact two seconds after it was established. "Um, though, it was Reborn-kun who invited me to talk to Tsuna-san."

"Ah, I see." I hummed thoughtfully, clasping my hands together. My smile curved. "Well, Tsuna's upstairs, along with Reborn-kun, Yamamoto-kun, and Gokudera-kun. I'll prepare more refreshments, dear, why don't you hurry along? Tsuna's room is the one with the tuna signboard." I suggested offhandedly, watching her nod hurriedly and scuttle off to the stairs, almost stumbling in her haste. It was almost like watching someone flee.

I tilted my head to the side and glided into the kitchen, wrenching out one of the wickedly sharp knives as I moved about, reaching for pans and spatulas all the while. I turned the stove on and slammed the frying pan down, the clanking echoing in the quiet room. I poured some cooking oil into the pan, taking out the onions and the garlic distractedly.

All I did was cook food, now. It was demeaning.

As I set the chopping board and cut the onion up into two, almost viciously tearing it up into small pieces, I told myself that it wouldn't be long now. _Patience, Nadeshiko. _I told myself. _Patience._

* * *

"I bring more food." I announced as I knocked on Tsuna's door, waiting for a moment before opening it to look inside.

Yamamoto had, apparently, discovered the heavenly taste of my butter biscuits, as he held the half-empty plate in one hand, keeping it away from the others with a safe distance (not Reborn, though, because the hitman was stoically enjoying a biscuit).

Tsuna was giving the baseball player a baleful glare, grumbling to himself.

Gokudera was still reading Golden Dreams Gakuen—this time the eighth volume, where the protagonist discovers that his girlfriend has old yakuza blood. Don't ask me how I knew the storyline; it's all Tsuna's fault.

The only girl in the room—the beautiful Miss Kyoko, who will be the subject of some unavoidable gossip when the neighbors find out she entered a boy's room alone—was giggling at something Reborn had said (probably mafia-related). Everything looked normal.

Except for the gun on Kyoko's hands.

Taken by surprise—because it was a _real_ gun, and Tsuna knew, because while glaring at Yamamoto, he kept on giving his female friend furtive, worried glances from the corners of his eyes—I froze for a moment, eyes widening.

"Sawada-san!" The girl greeted cheerfully, waving at me with her free hand. I almost had a heart-attack when her fingers twitched around the firearm's trigger. "Thank you for your hospitality, you didn't have to make so much food for us." She thanked gratefully, half-rising to help me with the tray of food.

I mechanically handed it to her, mulling over the thought of what Nana would do, exactly, when thrown into such a scene. "No problem, dear. It's all I do around here." Ah, the painful truth.

Reborn gave me a sideways glance that was too casual to be actually casual.

_She would ignore it._ I answered my own question, frowning. That wouldn't do—I was working on fixing Nana's character and how she was portrayed in the anime. I needed a win-win response—oh.

_Perfect_.

I forced my lips to remain down-turned as I crossed the distance between my son and I and flicked his forehead. "You careless baby." I scolded disapprovingly, "That better be not your gun."

The glance Reborn gave me was confused and surprised. Not the reaction he had been expecting?

_Perfect._

"It's not!" Tsuna defended himself, dissolving into frantic mutters as he rubbed his stinging brow. "I wouldn't give her a real gun, Mom—n-no offense, Kyoko-san."

The strawberry-haired shrugged her small shoulders. "None taken, Tsuna-kun." She replied easily, putting down the weapon a good length away from her, much to my ever-lasting relief. "Can I skip my turn?" She asked Reborn, whose eyes weren't on her.

The hitman, as expected, was eying Tsuna curiously. "Dame-Tsuna," The mafioso began slowly, shifting so that he was angled to face the future Vongola Decimo directly. "Even with my reassurance, you doubt this counterfeit weapon?"

Tsuna ignored the cruel epithet on his part and crossed his arms, smiling uneasily at his tutor. "I think I can tell pot metal from real steel, Reborn." He answered carefully, directing his furtive glances not at Kyoko anymore, but rather, _at me_.

Satisfaction bubbled beneath the surface of my skin, sending tingles running down my spine. I made great effort not to smile smugly as I folded my legs beneath me and straightened my back, taking the gun with little concern. I raised it up and admired the way it gleamed in the sunlight. "Tsuna expressed an interest in firearms when he was eleven." I explained proudly, lowering the item at hand. I let out a girly giggle, "We had the money that time, because Iemitsu sent a lot back home, so I took him to my hometown when he aced his English exam. There was a newly-opened shooting range."

At the sudden silence in the room, I added hurriedly, "He has a license, of course."

The arcobaleno raised a sculpted eyebrow, his shoulders tensing. "Does your husband know about this, Mama?"

I blinked, once, and then twice, before I let out a noise of realization. "Oh, come to think of it, I never had the chance to tell him." I said aloud, crumpling in on myself. I told myself to be sad. "The first few weeks after that, I tried to tell Iemitsu on several phone calls, but he always hung up quickly, talking about some Mal Birch or Lal Birch." I smiled serenely, "Is it a milk-product in Italy?"

Reborn stared at me for two long seconds before breaking out into a malicious smirk. I tried not shudder as the temperature fell. "Is that so?" The baby asked with child-like approval. He regarded Tsuna with a once-over, and the smirk widened.

The brunette shivered and rubbed his forearms comfortingly. "Whatever." He dismissed casually, avoiding looking at his tutor. "The gun, albeit real, isn't loaded though. Reborn said it's loaded with a confetti capsule or something." He supplied hesitantly, sounding unsure of himself. The Vongola Hyper Intuition was making itself known.

"What are you doing with a gun, anyway?" I wondered, tapping my chin.

"Russian Roulette." The four teenagers chorused, Gokudera taking the time to glance up from his book. Yamamoto smiled and flashed me a thumbs-up, "It's a pretty nerve-wracking game, Sawada-san! I've been lucky three times!"

"So far, nobody's been hit yet." Gokudera droned, the rest of his words turning into mumbles. "Hajime-sensei is pretty good with the character development."

"You said it." Yamamoto chuckled, peering over the eighth volume, "Are you at the part where she-"

"No spoilers!" Gokudera barked, batting the baseball player away with his hand. "I'll kill you, baseball bastard, if you spoil the story for me."

"No killing." Tsuna half-heartedly warned the two, rubbing his cheeks in exasperation. I cleared my throat daintily, and as if remembering that his mother was in the room, he glanced at me and blushed. "So...um, yeah. Russian Roulette, Mom."

Reborn hopped into my lap, and instinctively, I began patting his head. "Russian Roulette is a practice of placing one round in a revolver, spinning the cylinder, aiming the revolver at one's head in a suicidal fashion, and pulling the trigger. It's a life-risking way of testing one's luck." He elaborated quietly.

"May I try, then?" I asked guilelessly, for the sake of keeping up the light-hearted conversation. "I'll take Sasagawa-san's turn." I offered, smiling at the pink-faced girl.

"Knock yourself out, Mama." Reborn replied, comfortably settling himself on his new seat. I laughed lightly and raised the gun to my head, shivering when the cool muzzle pressed itself against the strands of my hair. I played with the trigger, before taking a deep breath.

Tsuna suddenly bolted up, "Mom, don't-!"

BANG!

_Fuck you, Reborn_. Was all I could think as I crumpled down, an excruciating pain exploding in my temple. It pounded my head in, like something that didn't quite belong forced itself into my brain. A Dying Will bullet, probably, as the hitman didn't budge from my lap.

It hurt more than it did with a bullet to the leg.

Before complete darkness overwhelmed my vision, I saw a flash of Iemitsu in my mind's eye, and then with the hurt, came this sting of anger.

* * *

Under a second flat, Reborn found two surprisingly strong hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing his airways, until the arcobaleno actually felt himself twitching in discomfort. Tsuna looked positively murderous, with his usually brown eyes flashing a vivid orange, his teeth clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he alternated between glaring at his tutor, and giving his mother's slumped body panicked looks. Yamamoto was blinking, having recoiled at the sudden sound of a gun going off, while Gokudera was gaping, beads of sweat rolling down his face as he stared—flabbergasted—at the Sawada matron's body. Kyoko had turned a ghastly shade of white, looking torn between stopping Tsuna or attending to her shot hostess.

"It was a Dying Will bullet, Tsunayoshi." Reborn answered indifferently, breaking the silence. Still unmoving from his spot on Nana's lap, he reached out and took another butter biscuit for himself. Nobody would blame him; the treats were heavenly. "It will hardly hurt her."

It was (in some ways) true. Shots in the head were rarely painful—a person was usually dead by the next second. It wouldn't hurt her. It might harm her.

"The concept of the Dying Will bullet revolves around regrets and rebirth." Tsuna's voice was deceptively calm as he spoke, squeezing tighter. His eyes burned. With tears or a sick type of anger, Reborn didn't care. What he was interested in, however, was the sizzle of fire on the boy's forehead—not quite a Sky flame naturally summoned yet, but the ability to summon hints of it without the use of Dying Will bullets was something far beyond the boy's capabilities. It was impossible.

There was something more to Sawada Tsunayoshi than he originally believed, it seemed.

"Have you thought, for one second, that my mother is a normal citizen content with a normal life?" Tsuna was snarling, "Did you think, for one second, that she-"

"That she may not have any regrets, you say?" Reborn finished boredly, not at all bothered by the sudden killing intent directed at him. He had thought of it, of course. Tsuna was stupid to believe that his mother was perfectly happy with her life—there was no such thing as a perfect woman, even if Nana was close to it.

The woman was going to live. Naturally. Reborn did not commit mistakes. He was far above error. Rather than entertaining the boy's further ire, he kept an eye on the spark that began to crackle on the boy's head. If Nana stayed dead for a little longer, then there was a huge chance that the boy would gain the ability to use his flames by will.

A stretching sound began coming from the corpse in the room, and Reborn sighed, watching how the tiniest hints of a fire died out on the boy's head. Tsuna's head whirled around to face his mother, and he scrambled towards her, unintentionally dragging the hitman along.

The room fell silent as Nana groaned and slowly sat up, rubbing the spot on her head where she had been shot. Instead of a bullet wound, there was a small orange flame that dangerously flickered to die, but eventually grew steady and strong.

Kyoko let out a confused but relieved giggle. "Oh?" The teenage girl gasped, one hand rising to scratch her cheek. "Was it all an act, then?"

"I guess so." Yamamoto replied uncertainly, uneasily shrugging off the scene he just witnessed. It had been very strange. "Man, that seemed pretty real though. Tsuna's reaction-"

The silverette, upon hearing the two statements from his now unwilling-friends, face-palmed. "Are the both of you idiots?!" He snapped, putting down the manga in his hands, "I can't believe you-"

"Be quiet, dears." Nana sharply berated, and all three middle-schoolers obeyed instantly, jaws shutting with a loud snap. The woman's voice had lost all of its warmth. "You'll disturb the neighbors." She continued in a gentler note, though not at all warmer, "And Tsuna, sweetheart, let go of Reborn. He's just a child." She reminded crisply. The brunette reluctantly let go of his tutor, but the relief was obvious in the way he pulled back and slumped.

"Mom-"

"She's a Sky flame user as well." Reborn interrupted thoughtfully, eyeing the brilliant orange flame that burst from Nana's forehead. Her eyes didn't take on the eerie orange glow that Tsuna's did, but there was a similar will of steel behind those brown eyes.

Why hadn't he thought of the possibility that perhaps Tsuna's strength had come from both his mother and his father? Granted, his mother was physically harmless (though the way she handled the kitchen knife was superb), but her will was beyond impressive, for a civilian.

Iemitsu was stupid, alright, but _ridiculously_ lucky. It was incredibly rare for two powerful Sky Flame users to meet and settle down. It was no wonder that he, who was minutely flame-sensitive, immediately felt at home in the Sawada residence. No one would be immune to the presence of two strong Sky flames, even more so with remaining hints of another Sky flame in a single house.

When Nana fluidly stood in one move, Reborn returned his attention to her. She met his eyes without flinching, her face deceptively calm. He mirrored her expression. Or rather, the lack there of. It was slightly unsettling, because the woman was naturally expressive, but he wouldn't admit it to anyone.

She opened her mouth. "F-ck you." She said to him.

Reborn didn't blink. Tsuna's eyes threatened to bug out of his head, even as Kyoko gasped and covered her eyes.

Without another word to anyone else in the room, Nana whirled around and left.

In nothing but her underwear, Tsuna belatedly noticed.

"M-Mom!" Tsuna wailed, embarrassment flooding his face. "R-Reborn, urk, honestly, d-did you think o-of this?! M-Mom is...!"

Yamamoto had covered his eyes, and Gokudera intensely concentrated on his book, both bearing deeply disturbed looks. "Sorry, Tsuna." Yamamoto coughed, grimacing.

The brunette let out another scream and sprinted after his mother, snatching a towel on his way out. "Mo-Mom!"

A slender finger quickly pressed the keys she knew by heart, and Nana looked so particularly stony as she dialed Iemitsu's number. It rang three times before Iemitsu groggily answered, "Nana? Why are you calling this late? I was just finishing some pape—uh, sorry. What was it, dear?"

"If you don't return this year and remain in my house for at least two months, Iemitsu, I swear to God, I will f-cking castrate you and rip out your balls and serve them for dinner." She barked angrily, "And I will pick out the bluntest knife in my kitchen and saw your skin open and pick out your organs, and I _will _do it, you bastard, if you don't come back and make me happy, you selfish douchebag."

Reborn stepped down the stairs calmly, finding great amusement as Tsuna paled fifty shades of white, blubbering all the while. "R-Reborn! D-do something!" He bleated pitifully, gesturing to his cursing mother. Who knew she had such a mouth on her?

The arcobaleno shrugged. "Well, Tsunayoshi, I do have a hammer than can counter the effects of the Dying Will bullet..."

Tsuna calmed down and frowned. "I am sensing a but here..." He said after a long silence.

The hitman's malicious smirk returned. "Iemitsu is an idiot. He needs a talking-down."

* * *

A/N: Again, I'm really really sorry for the poor chapter. I'll try to do my best on the next one. Any spelling, grammar, or line-break mistakes, please don't be afraid to point them out. I am in desperate need of your help. Hopefully I'll be able to get through this depressed phase.

Please leave a review, tell me what you think. :-)

EDIT: Thanks to Melody-chii for that review. Changed the bits she pointed out.


	10. Interlude - Iemitsu

A/N: Don't kill me!

This is the first part of a two-chapter update (in which both are interludes, sadly), so make sure you don't skip this one! Enjoy!

* * *

Casalinga

**INTERLUDE**

If time were gold, then time off work might as well have been a gold mine.

But Iemitsu wasn't very familiar with the concept of time off work.

No, don't take him wrong—he had many things to do (err, kill?) on a daily basis, and so little time to himself because there were simply too much to be done. He knew how to appreciate a short vacation, a small recess, in _theory_. It was primarily what he would often obnoxiously complain to his subordinates, who in turn would suffer through his tirades with irritated (but mostly fond) exasperation.

But oddly enough, when a break did come around the corner—and how his men would rejoice—the CEDEF head often found himself stumped on what to do with all the ticking moments of free time. As the core members of CEDEF would file out, telling him where they would go and what they would do, inviting him to come along with them, he would jokingly decline their offers and make up some farce about "catching up on sleep" or "having a drink alone".

He couldn't call Nana. The timezones were different, and he wasn't cruel enough to take his lovely wife from the time of rest and dining she deserved. She was already doing so much for them both, filling out his shoes in mothering—and even fathering—their offspring.

He'd actually think twice about contacting Reborn. He wasn't _that_ stupid.

Basil was being flirted to by some of the female employees. Iemitsu wouldn't want to deprive the kid of that, even if he were terribly bored.

So, he resorted to doing more paperwork in the privacy of his room.

Complaining about paperwork on your work hours and completing them on your free time?

Irony at its finest, but he wasn't about to admit that to anyone. Shh, don't tell.

Irritated by the boredom and the total silence in his study, Iemitsu blew out a heavy sigh, pausing to scrutinize his minuscule handwriting against the stark white of the paper. He wanted to talk to someone, damn it. The quiet was killing him. Making him paranoid.

And then, as if hearing his wishes, the phone rang.

Iemitsu jumped, startled by the ringing. The shrill sound echoed along the empty halls, the hiss of the wind accompanying it—like a ballad for a horror movie. The blond shook his head and absentmindedly reached for the pistol inside his drawer, dark eyes suspiciously scanning his room. The phone rang a second time, and finally he picked it up, eying the caller's name.

"Nana?" He found himself saying, surprised. It was night in Italy. "Why are you calling this late? I was just finishing some pape-" Belatedly, he realized he was supposed to be a boring desk-worker with an equally boring day job. Iemitsu immediately backtracked and bit his tongue to keep his words in check.

"Uh, sorry." How eloquent. His mother would be so proud of him. "What was it, dear?" He ended up saying instead.

From the other end of the line, he heard her inhale deeply. His brow crinkled with worry; was something wrong (again)? She hadn't called outside their regular, scheduled telephone conversations since that nasty hospital scare with Tsuna—she had been very embarrassed and irritated that time, too.

"If you don't return this year and remain in my house for at least two months, Iemitsu, I swear to God, I will f-cking castrate you and rip out your balls-"

Wait.

What.

WHAT.

WHAT?!

He pulled the phone away from his ear and watched it incredulously, not believing that it was his sweet wife who was presently barking at him like a rabid dog. The phone's speaker hummed with noise—more threats to his manhood, no doubt—and he swallowed, for there was a pause. Hesitantly, he pressed the phone to his ear again.

"-and I _will_ do it, you bastard, if you don't come back and make me happy, you selfish douche bag."

He yelped, suddenly realizing the weight of her words. "Wait, wait, Nana-!"

She cut him off swiftly, mercilessly, might he add, with more promises of death and suffering, her words getting darker and angrier by the second. He pursed his lips, waiting for her to finish.

When she did finally seem to be done, she hung up on him too quickly for him to get a word in.

Iemitsu sat on his chair, stumped, staring at the phone in his hands. Finally, he put it down and waited, mind working furiously.

It rang again two seconds later, and he answered it quickly, "Nana!?"

"No, Dad." Tsuna's rich tenor replied, grunting, as he seemed to sound like he was lifting something heavy, "This is Tsuna. Sorry about Mom just now, a Dying Will bullet—is that what it's called?—was involved."

Upon hearing the answer to his misery, Iemitsu relaxed. Oh. Well. That was good.

Wait.

"You let her near a gun?!" He shouted into the receiver, hysterical. His free hand clutched the edge of his desk, digits digging into the wooden surface. "You let your clumsy, soft-hearted, sweet mother near a gun?!"

Even the thought of it sounded unreal. Nana, and a Dying Will bullet?

Hell, he didn't give a single damn if it were Dying Will or no! Nana _and_ a bullet?!

_Che cazzo_?!

"...It was Reborn's fault." Tsuna answered guiltily, his voice lowering. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Jesus Christ, Tsuna!" Iemitsu croaked, voice cracking. He rested his forehead against the face of his desk and inhaled deeply, attempting to calm himself. "What if it had been a real bullet? What were you doing? What were you thinking?" He demanded, glaring at the brown paint of the table.

His son's tone was subdued, but the blond took no notice, "Well, there was, uh, Russian Roulette-"

"Russian Roulette!?" Iemitsu thundered, his heart almost stopping in his chest. Russian Roulette was a game out of mafia movies and death. "You let your mother play Russian Roulette? With a real gun?!"

"I'm sorry, Dad." Tsuna repeated again, in a firmer tone of voice. Iemitsu was struck by the fact that his son sounded ultimately like Nana, when she strove to calm Iemitsu down and set his mind straight.

He took another deep breath, counting to ten. His wife's gentle voice sounded in his mind. _Calm down, Iemitsu_.

"Okay. Just, just be more careful." He grumbled into the receiver, straightening and leaning back into the soft backrest of his seat. He knew that the speed of which he allowed Tsuna reprieve was a grade A sign for bad parenting (he was sure guns and mothers and mafia would alarm most parents to death), but he didn't know what else to tell his son other than surprised exclamations and adulterated swearing.

The deed had already been done, after all. For all shouting could do, Iemitsu knew he couldn't undo the event.

What was depressing was that his wife's last regret was not telling him to come home and spend time with her. _Shit, _he thought grimly.

His world tipped back until he was eying the ceiling. A ten-second conversation hadn't exhausted him like this in a while. "There shouldn't be a next time." He warned lowly, grimacing at the mere thought of a next time.

Tsuna chuckled dryly, exhaling. "I don't plan on it, Dad. You be careful there, too. I, uh," The brunette swallowed uncomfortably, and then there was awkward silence.

Iemitsu softly groaned into his hand—he didn't want the conversation to tread to the topic of "there". Sometimes he forgot his son already knew of his occupation.

The real one.

Tsuna had always been that child he wanted to shield from the evils of the world. It didn't sit right with him—the thought of his offspring knowing just what dark path Iemitsu was walking. Iemitsu, when it came to Tsuna, dealt with a mix of worship and discomfort. He had always been Tsuna's hero. The fact that his son was now privy to how much wrongs Iemitsu had done—how many people he had killed, how many families he had torn apart, how many others he had slept with—just to keep his wife and son safe was, well, wrong.

"This is our child, Iemitsu." Nana had once told him, cradling their tiny son in her arms one night. He remembered an age when he had been terrified of fatherhood, not only because of his occupation, but also because of his own insecurities. A child had been too much.

What if he dropped Tsuna?

What if he accidentally fed Tsuna the mixture meant for rats?

What if, during cuddling, he crushed Tsuna?

"I will kill you if you would, Iemitsu." His wife had told him calmly, breathing her words to the shell of his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck with the most beautiful smile in the world. He had shivered, not only from arousal, but also fear.

Nana had been his light in those dark times, when he was torn between his profession and his family. Until this very day, she was still his light.

Tsuna was only four months old that time. Nana was often tired and quiet, but always smiling. His sweet flower. Iemitsu was very very in love with her.

She looked up from the infant and gave him a stern look, her brown hair held up in a loosening bun. "He is half of you, and half of me. A part of me is in this child. A part of you as well." She took a deep breath and suddenly became more intimidating than assassins and mafioso and everything else in the world. Iemitsu had gaped at her, surprised at the sudden seriousness of the topic. "In this world, he is the only thing that is truly truly ours. We will protect him, and raise him with our best."

She had been very determined. He was half-expecting a Sky Flame to sprout from her forehead, if only to emphasize their new mission.

"Tsuna..." He began quietly, unsure of where to begin.

"No, Dad." Tsuna replied equally as quiet, "It's okay. I understand." The weight on Iemitsu's chest lightened. "Thank you. For everything you do."

He tried to answer back, but the words were stuck in his throat.

"I love you, Dad."

He blew out a heavy sigh, sinking into his chair. "Love you too, kid." He answered gruffly. He imagined Tsuna smiling before they hung up on each other.

For several long moments, total silence swept the room. Iemitsu glanced at the piles of paperwork forming a mini-metropolis on his desk and rolled his eyes heavenward. "Drat it all." He stumbled out of the chair and into his bed, arms encircling around a pillow, imagining it was Nana.

Soon enough, his eyes willingly shut and he fell asleep.

* * *

He was awoken by shrill ringing.

Cursing, he rolled out of bed, taking the blanket and some pillows down with him as he embraced the floor rather violently, butt first. Cringing at the pain, he rose to his feet and limped to the telephone, picking it up with a wince. "Hello?" He answered, voice still thick with sleep. He glanced up at the clock and made a face—it was too early for work.

"Ie...Iemitsu?"

He sobered quickly, "Nana." He greeted a bit stiffly, still feeling the sting of her threats from a few hours ago.

"Am I...disrupting anything?" She asked hesitantly, sounding incredibly meek. Iemitsu sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. "No, you're not, dear." He said, rolling his shoulders forward. "What is it?"

"I-I had a bad dream." She paused, and then hurriedly added, "Oh my, I sound so childish. Forget I said anything, husband o' mine. Well, uh, I'm off to watch some teledrama, so-"

"Nana." He interrupted smoothly, and her words died down. "Talk to me."

She hesitated, and finally relented. "I had dreamed of, forgive me for even thinking it, _disemboweling you_." She admitted quietly. Iemitsu wanted to slap himself. Dream. Right. Thank goodness she didn't remember. Tsuna had some common sense, at least.

"Why on earth would you want to disembowel me?" He tried to joke, nervously laughing.

Her silence was telling. "Erm," she began uncomfortably after, primly clearing her throat, "I could, uh, you know, name a couple of reasons."

"Please don't." Iemitsu begged.

"Right."

"Right."

There was another uncomfortable, unsure pause from her side of the line. "Ooookay then. Let's pretend this conversation never happened." She suggested slowly.

"Agreed," Iemitsu sighed, grinning to himself, "Spare me the embarrassment of my own stunted logic."

"Uh-huh," at least Nana's tone had taken a bit of amusement, and the blond gave himself a small mental pat to the back. One less incident of making his flower sad, success! "I clearly want to preserve my husband's ego."

His heart had skipped a beat when she acknowledged his role in her life. It always had. It pleased him to no end whenever she called him her husband. It just made him so proud. "Thank you, for being such a kind and understanding wife." He meant it as a play-along to her playful mood and as seriously as possible, because by God above, his wife was such a blessing.

"I love you, Iemitsu," ah, there it was. The good ol' three-word phrase. Iemitsu melted into his own gooey puddle, butterflies going absolutely insane in his stomach, along with the thrill of temporary euphoria, because damn. _Damn. _He was one lucky man.

"Love you too." He managed to squeak out. For his efforts, Nana laughed in delight and hung up.

Embarrassing as it was to admit it, he stared dreamily into the velvet curtains and valiantly fought off the urge to gush. Ugh.

Tanaka—now Sawada (and Iemitsu's inner egoistical demon puffed up and grinned triumphantly)—Nana was, perhaps inadequately described, a lucky catch. Forgive him for sounding incredibly sappy and lovesick, but she was a gift from the heavens.

Nana was quiet, calm, and patient, brandishing a quick wit and an air of complete contentedness. When they first met, she had been such a polite thing! Sometimes he had to marvel at the fire she actually kept hidden. He had expected rejection when he first tried (and oh, how he did try), but when he had begun frequenting her father's restaurant, she had been nothing but indulgent. She had entertained him and his "silly" objectives, despite her obvious exasperation for his "less-than-innocent" (her father's exact words) motives towards herself, and by the end of it, still reeling from the amused smile and the soft pat to the cheek, Iemitsu found himself, perhaps disappointingly, not a girl friend (yet), but loads better, a dear friend.

And he had fallen. Hard. Struck rock bottom, and ack, his romanticism was showing, everything else after had been soaring high, like a rocket launched from dirt.

It sickened him to lie to her. But she was his beautiful Nana. Thousands would die (and thousands already had) before he would let anything from his side of the world touch a strand on her perfect head.


	11. Interlude - With Toshio

A/N: This is the second update in a day. Make sure you didn't miss Iemitsu's interlude!

This interlude is set a day after the whole dying will incident, and a day after what will happen in the next chapter, so yeah. Don't be confused.

Actually, feel free to be confused. It will all be revealed in time.

* * *

Casalinga

**INTERLUDE**

"Sit down." I offered kindly, gesturing to the love seat by the fireplace. It was the perfect seat for the guest—it fit his physique perfectly, neither too big nor too small. Originally it was intended to fit Iemitsu's sheer muscle, but when I had bought it, I wasn't quite aware of how huge he was (I was the after-marriage exploring kind of woman, if you know what I mean), thus I based it on the size of the only other man I knew.

Father and Toshio coincidentally had the same build.

"Sorry about the clutter, Toshio-sensei. I hadn't quite cleaned yet." I laughed airily, my shoulders demurely shaking with every high-pitched titter that left my mouth. Toshio gave me a strange look as he took a seat, nervously sinking into the chair. "I must have fallen asleep for the half of yesterday because I don't remember a single thing I've done since the morning until lunch, so I missed my tidying up schedule."

Tsuna flinched guiltily but kept his eyes on our guest, who stiffly looked around, biting his lip to keep from commenting on the orderliness and cleanliness of everything. What clutter? His eyes demanded boorishly.

I smiled pleasantly.

"Mom." My son began on his teacher's behalf, exasperated in the way only an embarrassed boy could. "The house is clean."

I continued laughing, though I took on a dangerous "oh really?" tone. "The cabinet to my right was symmetrical two days ago, Tsunayoshi." I reminded him strictly, eyes unintentionally narrowing into slits. "It isn't symmetrical now." I briefly pretended to wonder what "mysterious phenomenon" had happened to it. Tsuna flinched again.

Ah, he probably knew that too.

Our telephone was also damaged—as if someone had raged into it and slammed it down not-too-gently.

I wondered how he was going to try to explain that. Tsk, tsk, Tsuna. Tsk, tsk.

"Please wait here, Toshio-san. I will retrieve some refreshments for us." I said curtly, shuffling towards the kitchen. After giving it a second of thought, I amended that perhaps leaving my son and a former suitor in the same room was probably not a good idea (an understatement, Nadeshiko, a freaking understatement), so I paused and faced Tsunayoshi, who looked torn between glaring at his teacher and greeting him respectfully.

"Oh, and Tsuna, don't you have tutoring with Reborn that you have to do?" I reminded him casually, smiling reassuringly when he made a sour face. His distaste for tutorial sessions remained even after almost a month of attending them relentlessly.

I didn't wonder on that too much—I would be too, if my tutor was a particularly violent hitman. God bless Tsuna's poor spirit. "Your progress is doing nicely, dear. I saw your latest History test, and I'm quite impressed." I consoled, thinking about the 85 mark he had out of 95.

I apparently said the right thing because he blushed a pleased red and excused himself, rushing upstairs. Not before sending his teacher another unsure glance, however. I rolled my eyes at his antics and laughed under my breath, opening the fridge to retrieve a ready-made pitcher of lemonade. I took two glasses from the compartment and dragged a serving tray from one of the open closets, arranging everything together accordingly.

After a beat of hesitation, I brought out left-over slices of cake and plopped the plate right at the center of the tray. Grabbing a tissue, I carefully wiped away the crumbs and threw the soiled tissue down the trash bin. Plastering another friendly smile into my face, I took the tray and gently carried it back to the living room where Toshio looked positively sick of the completely undisturbed silence he had to endure.

"Sorry for the wait." I chirped, placing it on the center table. "I'm sorry we don't have much. I wasn't expecting a visitor."

"I apologize about that." He coughed into his fist, dark eyes showing his remorse instead of his facial expression, or, as a matter of fact, his voice. Eyes were the windows to the soul and all that. "I should have called to inform you beforehand." He muttered, eying the slice of ube cake.

I waved away his concerns, allowing the smile to turn a bit lesser than professional and more of personal. "Nonsense, Toshio-sensei." I told him calmly, taking a seat on the couch. I leaned back and sank into the soft cushions, "Don't be such a stranger. We were friends, weren't we?"

He suddenly blushed as red as a berry, and tried to hide the fact that he was.

_Adorable_. I thought dryly.

Quickly, as if his life depended on it, he picked up a glass and filled it with juice, almost painfully thrusting the cup into his lips to hide the pink that glowed in his cheeks.

At the surprisingly childish sight, fondness rushed into my chest, warming my nerves and adding in some genuine warmth to my face, but accompanying it was a traitorous stab of irritation. I could only hope to say the ire was towards myself, but then I would be lying.

Toshio's infatuation towards yours truly flattered me and saddened me and annoyed me to no end.

You see, my indifference to Toshio was a little mix of truth and lies. I liked him professionally—despite the contrast and likeness of our previous professions, I greatly admired his skills and his efficiency to start a job and finish it with the ruthlessness of a single-minded machine. I was also pleased to find that of all the women to choose from, he, in particular, felt affection and admiration to myself.

In a way, it upset me as well, but more for his part. Of all the women to choose from, he, in particular, had to choose _me_ who was the one unable to return his feelings. And it annoyed me because that was unfair not only to Toshio, but also to me. His feelings unintentionally made me guilty because I cared for him, at least partly, but I could only summon pathetic feelings of like in return.

It summed up to the fact that I heartlessly only liked the idea of him liking me, rather than liking him as a person. That known detail led to me, less heartlessly, deciding to steer clear of a relationship that would undoubtedly lead to heart break for him.

I was a messed-up woman. And he was equally as messed-up to know this and still relentlessly pursue.

The man didn't deign me with an answer, knowing that my words were perfectly rhetorical. I secretly sighed in relief. There was a time he used to reply to such questions—but he had been socially inept that time.

Toshio Masahiko and I shared a rather lengthy history.

Friends? Not quite.

Enemies? Almost.

Frienemies? Psh, what were we, grade school pupils?

Nori had liked to call it sexual tension. Personally, I dubbed it rivalry.

Toshio had been, and if I guess right, will always be a strange person. He was like a robot, only with twice the dedication to perfection and the stubbornness to boot. As classmates for a short period of time, he and I never really did get along, even at the simplest of things like the cleaning schedule, for example.

When he began working as a police officer and I as a yakuza member, not-getting-along became an understatement. The two of us clashed, period, never mind the begrudging respect from both parties. There were no other explanations needed to explain our positions in the alliance paradigm.

During the last couple years of my former occupation, the law worked with the yakuza to keep the peace. Nori had a bad habit of pairing the two of us together on patrols and raids.

We had worked together, alright, like a mixture cornstarch and meat. As a pair we did splendidly, but the process of making us cooperate with each other was messy and dirty, so to speak.

It was a competition. He won by a small difference.

* * *

"If you move, I'll kill you." The foul-breathing, sorry excuse of a gang fighter threatened, waving a knife at my direction.

Limbs trembling with fatigue, I tried to push myself up, and failed spectacularly. I hoped that I was still frightening despite being a heap of sweat and blood on the ground. "How cowardly." I spat, giving him a dark glare, "To come out and fight when I've my back turned, but hiding when I wiped the ground with your comrades' faces-!"

"Shut up!" He hissed, miming a stabbing motion with the blade. I fought down a groan and the nasty comment that came with it, clutching my mid-drift. Even if I wouldn't admit it out loud, this group had been decently skilled. One had been able to nick my torso before I brought him down.

I was under-exaggerating. He did so much more that just "nick" my torso, but who was asking, really?

"Not so powerful now, are you?" The douche bag crowed, unfortunately not stupid enough to get within three feet of me. Instead, he stepped back and eyed the puddle of blood that began pooling beneath me, around me, staining my arms and my kimono and my beautiful hair (you bet your ass my hair is pretty). I bit back another groan and pressed my shaking hand harder against my stomach, because it was the only thing between me and my second death.

When the thought hit me, my trembling became so much harder to hide, because the idea of dying—of dying _again_ was scarier than anything else in the world.

Feeling numb, I cursed my luck (or lack thereof) and looked up at the cowardly swine, who, much to my displeasure, began to laugh. It wasn't even the evil, frightening laughter, but rather, hysterical noises with a bunch of snorts and gasps thrown into the mix. "You're going to die." He taunted maliciously, beady eyes gleaming as he let loose another round of laughs, "And I don't even have to do anything! I could just stand here, and your vision will go dark, and you'll be a corpse soon-"

"Like the innocent people you killed?" I bit out, losing the ability to feel my hand. I desperately pressed my body against it—what a stupid time for cramps to set in—in hopes that it would still slow down the bleeding. "This would never have happened if you just left the pharmacies of downtown alone."

"Shut up, bitch!" He snarled, and he was mad—angry and insane, both the contexts applied. I looked down and pressed my cheek against the cold ground, vision blurring with frustrated tears. I did not want to die again, but he was mad. So so mad. I wanted to crawl, but it would risk me bleeding out if I as much as moved an inch.

I clamped my mouth shut to prevent the groan and the sob and the moan that would come out with it, because I did _not _want to give this man the pleasure to see me suffer, to see me do something as human as _cry_.

"So," I coughed out, and why was I even bothering to keep conversing with this fellow? It was useless. "You're just-you're just going to watch me? Is that it?"

He scoffed and squatted down, twisting his lips into a sneer. "You talk as if it's simple. You don't have long." He jeered lowly.

I opened my mouth to reply, but closed it quickly. I needed to concentrate on keeping myself alive—at least, that is, until reinforcement arrived. Nori would kill me if I died.

There was a beat of silence.

And then with a startled choke, he fell down, dead. At the sound of his body hitting the ground, I tensed up and looked to see what on earth had happened. The man had landed on his knife, and there was a hole on the back of his head, blood and brainy bits smearing his shaved head an ugly red and pink. I gagged at the sight and swallowed the bile that rose to my throat, shuddering at the bitter tang.

Two solid feet landed to my left with a hiss of wind, and before I knew it, cold hands rolled me over to my back, and weakly sputtering, I turned my unfocused gaze to my apparent rescuer.

"You?" I cried in dismay.

Toshio Masahiko, of all people, ignored my disbelief and covered the wound with his palm, pressing down ever so slightly. "Be quiet."

* * *

"Err," I snapped out of my old, old memories and returned my attention to Toshio, who, in his effort to hide his red-stained cheeks, finished his drink completely. He was, to my amusement, crunching on the ice cubes. "So, what are you here for? Has Tsuna found trouble in school?" Again?

He paused to think. "No, not at all." He replied slowly, exhaling. "Rather, Sawada-san, I believe trouble frequently finds Tsunayoshi. Perhaps, if I recall correctly, a week ago, I found your son locked inside one of the locker houses with his friends, Yamamoto-kun and Gokudera-kun."

I was surprised by the information and a little exasperated by the turn of events, but another part, the suppressed inner fan girl, burst forth. Without my meaning to, I giggled pervertedly, one hand rising to delicately cover my mouth.

"Figures that would be your reaction." Toshio sighed dryly, rolling his eyes heavenward, as if asking, "why me?".

"Hey!" I snapped, wrinkling my nose, "I resent that statement. And, uh, do carry on."

"The other, as you already know, involved Yamamoto-kun's broken arm." He obliged.

I wrinkled my nose again. "Oh, poor boy. He had seemed quite upset to be unable to enter that tournament of theirs. Has he leaned towards suicidal tendencies?" I haphazarded.

Toshio's eyes flew open in surprise. "What!?"

"Don't look so offended, Toshio-sensei!" I berated, tapping my cheek, feeling the need to defend myself. He was looking at me strangely. "It's a perfectly logical assumption."

He gave me another odd look before pouring himself another glass of juice. "You never fail to always startle emotional reactions from me, Sawada-san." He muttered to himself, believing I couldn't hear him. "Very well. To humor your absurd query, no, he has not, in fact shown any suicidal tendencies. Your son's support and friendship seems to have done him some good."

"Awesome." I quipped approvingly, bobbing my head. "That's nice to hear, then. Tsuna deserves to have some good friends, and I'm glad he's made some." A thought struck me, and I unconsciously furrowed my eyebrows. "At the risk of sounding rude, though, may I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why were you in the hospital, that day? I understand that you are a teacher, in Namimori-chu, however, I can't quite imagine you as a baseball coach." I asked, feeling extremely silly for suggesting that the feared ruthless Toshio Masahiko would coach baseball.

His eyebrows rose. "Hasn't Tsunayoshi informed you? I am his adviser." Oh. Well, that explained some things. "It was perfectly well within my duties to escort an injured student of mine and reassure his parents, and friends, of his condition."

"I wasn't aware you were his adviser," I said, frowning. "Funny. Tsuna, or at least, uh, Reborn, would have told me."

"Reborn?" His eyebrows rose higher.

Perfect timing. I clasped my hands together and dropped the frown. "What I will say right now might sound a bit ludicrous, but Reborn is a genius child we hired to tutor Tsuna in his studies. His methods seem to be working so far." I recited dutifully.

I internally laughed when Toshio's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hair line. "I...see." He shifted in his seat. "Well, that's...rather very resourceful of you. The tutor seems to be doing him some good."

"I agree." I agreed patiently. "Please, sensei, tell me more about my son's progress in school."

He nodded. "Very well. But first, may I ask you about something? I was entering the neighborhood and had heard that you had volunteered to take in a child that is currently residing in an orphanage. That's...forgive me, but I find it very uncharacteristic of you."

I nodded, dryly smiling. "Yes. I surprised even myself. His name is Lambo, you see, and I found him after I had gone out the previous morning. So I..."


	12. Chapter 9

Casalinga

By Freydris

Chapter Nine

"Tsuna, come along, dear. We don't have all day." I called, twisting around to pointedly stare at my thirteen-year-old son. I sported a rather large handbag over one arm, and with the other carried the latest selection of gardenia seeds from the local gardening shop. I impatiently checked my wristwatch. It was Sunday, and about ten minutes until two o'clock in the afternoon.

I tapped my sandals and waited, rubbing my itching shoulder.

The brunette, donning a newly purchased sleeveless hoodie-

("This is the trend, Mom!" he had insisted, attempting not to look embarrassed after showing the attire to me, still on a hanger and the price-on-sale displayed, and I indulgently nodded because he was a growing boy and I understood what it felt like at that age. With my permission, he brightened up and bought it from the clothes stand.)

-and worn khaki pants, huffed and pouted, and gave the sweets shop one last lingering, soulful look. "'Til next time, my love." He muttered, removing his hand from the glass window. A hand print remained where the hand once rested.

I cringed. "Don't be so dramatic." I scolded him flatly, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the window, as well as a delicate, recycled perfume bottle filled with ethyl alcohol to clean his hands. He turned red and snatched the bottle from me before I could spray his hands for him, and with a mumble, he turned to the side and did so by himself, self-consciously glancing at the rush of Japanese citizens passing by the sidewalk.

I felt a little surprised at that (and even a little rejected, to be honest, but come on—every mother does at one point), but realized that from his side, it must really be embarrassing to be doted on so openly in public. I smiled and didn't protest as he finished up and handed the bottle back to me, avoiding my eyes rebelliously.

"There. Now can we go?" I asked instead, pulling down the sunglasses from my head as I stepped back out into the sunlight. We had stopped in front of a sweet shop mostly at his request, but also because the building had a little roof that stretched out and offered sanctuary from the heat.

Warmth instantly hit my skin, searing and stinging in a way that most certainly was not refreshing, and I bemoaned the fact that I hadn't thought of putting on sunblock before leaving the subdivision. Namimori was uncharacteristically hot this month.

"But I'm still kinda hungry," Tsuna protested.

"We just ate." I pointed out dryly. "And you know you can't bring food into a bookshop. I don't want you to wait outside for the whole two hours I disappear into the store."

He puffed up his cheeks and attempted to coolly straighten his back. The effect of both actions canceled each other out. "It won't take me two hours to finish a few bites of a snack." He countered stubbornly, oblivious to my inner entertainment.

"I thought you were saving up for that one action figure." I tried again, making sure that he was following before I slid into the passersby's flow.

"It'll just be chips! Nothing more, I swear! It's not even expensive!" He exclaimed, jogging after me.

I paused and actually considered the idea. I _was_ craving for some chips. "Fine. But you're going to buy me some Cheese Rings, too." I sighed, the inner pushover in me revealing itself. "The one with the purple robot girl on the packaging."

He beamed, pleased that he had won this round. "Yes!"

_Just you wait, _I thought darkly. We were going to have bitter gourd with egg for breakfast tomorrow. "Right." I continued, sniffing. "Magic Bookstore. You know where it is. If you're not there in twenty minutes, I'm going out to search for you."

"Right-o!" He squealed, vaulting to my right just as a suspicious swarm of dark-colored insects turned the corner, the hoard crawling all over the walls like a tide of night. A small figure trailed after them in a sedate pace.

I plastered another smile on my face, patting Tsuna's cheek just for the heck of it. I was feeling very vindictive today. "Very well, Tsu-kun."

He was gone in an instant, pushing past the crowd to the nearest convenience store in the block. My gaze lingered on his back for a couple of long moments before I huffed and continued towards the most affordable bookstore in Namimori. The English words "Magic" and "Bookstore", out of place amongst the sea of Japanese sign boards, were printed neatly on an old tarpaulin by the entrance.

Bells chimed as I pushed open the front door, and the old wood beneath my feet creaked and groaned. An elderly woman looked up and smiled at me toothlessly, her ditzy, horn-rimmed glasses gleaming as the sunlight struck its lenses. I removed my own sunglasses and clipped it along my collar, admiring the bookstore's architectural design. It was a quaint little place, but it had its own atrium.

"Why, if ain't Sawada-san!" She cackled, putting down a fairly new-looking book. "How are ya? Where's Tsunayoshi-kun? I heard ya got into a lil' bit of a trouble in the marketplace a few days back. Ya good?"

I chuckled and paused, still holding the door open. "Hello to you too, Yasada-san!" I chirped, the sound annoyingly resembling the twittering of a spring bird. Judging by the crease of her eyebrows, that tone of voice annoyed her like it always did. I bit back a smile. "Tsunayoshi's buying some snacks at the moment, and yes, I did. The Discipline Committee helped me out, so you could say I'm 'good'."

The old woman huffed and grinned, displaying her gums. "Well." She muttered. "It seems to me like that unruly gang is at least good for _something_." She sniffed in disdain.

I gently closed the door behind me and walked over to her, the heels of my sandals clip-clopping against the wooden floorboards. She peered up at me, a half-interested gaze on my enormous handbag.

"They're a school discipline committee, Yasada-san, not a gang." I defended lightly, waving a hand and patting the cheap material delicately slung around my elbow.

"I know a gang when I see one, lady. They're some sorta committee in name, alright, but they're a gang through and through. The standard hair cut's not helping, too!" Barked she, wagging a wrinkled finger disapprovingly.

I outright laughed. "You have a point there," I sniggered, rolling my eyes as I recalled how weird it was seeing the infamous (and greatly exaggerated) pompadour on some youth's untried swaggering head.

Back in the early 60s when I was born in this world, it was well-received, considering Elvis Presley from the States as well as the Japanese people adopting the rockabilly outlook, but the reception had somehow dropped now in the 1990s. I didn't expect to see it much outside of films.

"I'm in my thirties, but I gotta say that style's passed on now." I dragged a chair to the counter, propping an elbow on the desk and leaning in conspiratorially, not quite sitting down but instead settling for propping a knee on the seat like some sort of high school girl with a few secrets to share. "Still, they do their job."

"The police's job," Yasada corrected, croaking unattractively. She closed her eyes and tapped the open pages of her book. "And speaking of the police, ya heard about the change in leadership, hm? Old Shimoda had been a pain in the ass, and I say good riddance! He was getting senile and cranky."

"He chose a passive approach to the upholding of the law." I commented neutrally. And, a little less neutrally, I added, "He answered to the Hibari clan, anyway."

"Which is why that little Hibari brat's running this town like some sort of marathon." Concluded Yasada dourly, snapping her eyes open only to roll them. She leaned back and pushed up her spectacles. "Well, the new hotshot's some catch, or so I heard. The Ikehara girl's trying to catch his attention—she's been making the whole police department lunch in hopes to catch 'im."

"How adorable." I commented, lighting up at the thought of Toshio's uncomfortable expression in the face of such determined attentions. How does it feel the other way around now, bastard?

"Hopefully," I plowed on, "He's not under the Hibari's thumb. The guy—Toshio Masahiko—he-" her eyes widened, "-is working as a substitute for Kagami-sensei in Namimori Middle School. He teaches my son History." I shrugged and shifted so that I was finally sitting down. I plopped my bag on the counter and set it aside.

"Kagami-sensei—the older one, not his son—curiously got into a rather strange accident, ya know. A car clipped him on his side, and they thought he broke his back." She told me carefully.

I frowned. "What bad luck! I hope he's alright. The old man's tough, but not that tough."

"He is," she confirmed distractedly. Her eyes were drawn to my bag. "So." She prompted.

I sighed. She was pretty impatient today. Usually we would be talking for hours. "Alright. I got a little something for you. Off the record." I grumbled, zipping the bag open. I pulled out a round package and rolled it across the table towards her. She caught it steadily and untwined the tie. The lacy pink ribbon was tossed away without care—I stared at it dejectedly as it fluttered to the floor.

She peered into the package and wrinkled her nose. "Kami damn, lady!" She whistled, quickly picking up the ribbon and tying the parcel shut again. "Ya sure are thorough. Remind me not to mess with ya. Lay it off with the charcoal and the coffee grounds next time, though."

"Noted." I grumbled dryly. "So. Iori Kyo. He has two records of theft in Namimori, but in the Southern parts, he raped two women and killed another. One woman happened to be the fiancée of a big-shot company manager. He has a reward for Iori's head. Search him up: Taniguchi Shuzo of DRUM Cooperative. Same thing, same deal, same transaction. Thirty-five percent goes to you."

"Forty," she tried to suggest, starting up an old computer that sputtered before it turned on completely.

"Thirty-five." I repeated firmly. "I had to deal with the smell for days. Thirty-five percent, Yasada-san, or it's no percent at all."

She wasn't about to give up, judging by the lock of her jaw. "I'm the one risking me neck here, delivering this shite."

"Try again," I deadpanned. "I've seen you around with your boys. They're the ones delivering the shite. You just order them around." I reached for the bag and began to stand.

She kept it away from me. "Fine, fine." She grumbled, looking constipated. I sat back down and hummed. "Will that be all?" She asked after a moment.

"Drop dead, old hag." I cut in swiftly, frowning at her disapprovingly. "I'm not falling for that twice. How big is the reward?"

"Five million, four-hundred thirty thousand yen." She answered after a beat. I stood up again. "Really, Yasada-san. How big is it?"

She gave me a begrudging, irritated glance before relenting. "Fine, okay. Don't get your panties in a bunch. That was last year's update. The most recent one is," she squinted, "Yeah, up by another four-hundred thousand."

I did the math mentally and nodded. "That's fair. Sorry, Yasada-san, but a woman's gotta find a way to feed herself and her family, you know? It's been quite some time since the last one, and my husband's not earning that well." I shrugged and picked up a pen from her desk, ripping up a roll of paper and jotting down a date. "You know what bank account to forward sixty percent of the number. If it's not on by then, it's your head on the line." I warned.

"Don't wanna end up like that," she jerked a thumb towards the package, "So excuse you." She took the piece of paper and tucked it into her bra. "Out of curiosity, how'd you get 'im out? He was already in jail."

"The chief of police teaches in school, remember?" I tutted, shaking my head. "He wasn't there when I dropped by and picked Iori up." I hadn't known that it was Toshio who was the chief of police then. Huh.

"Right." She hummed. "Now, really. Will that be all?"

I moved to nod shortly, but then caught sight of the newest volume of Perfection Planet displayed proudly on the featured collection. I gasped and pointed at it. "Oh my God, you already have a copy of that?" I hissed, incredulous. "It came out in Tokyo just yesterday!"

"Of course I already have a copy of that." She groused, looking faintly smug as she unplugged her computer and leaned back. "It's the way I work."

"Illegally?" I guessed dryly, though with no real heat. "How much are you selling that for?"

"It's not for sale." She baited.

I crossed my arms and glared at her. "How much are you selling that for?" I demanded.

"Jeez, you really don't take no for an answer, do you, Sawada-san?" I bared my teeth threateningly, and she cackled. "Oh, okay! No need to go all animal on me. One-thousand five-hundred and fifty-three yen. Exactly how I got it."

"Bullsh-t." I snapped.

She retrieved it and held it up for me to see. "The plastic hasn't even been ripped, see? I'm not offering anything less for this. Not when you have that look in your eye, girl."

Before I could continue on negotiating about Perfection Planet, the bells on the front door chimed, and my Nana persona slipped out. "Tsu-kun!" I trilled, and Yasada made a disgruntled face at the abrupt change in personality. Suck my d-ck, b-tch, I thought sourly.

I automatically angled my line of vision to where I knew Tsuna's height would reach, but then my sight came upon an empty, open doorway. I looked down and blinked. Was that...?

_It was_, a part of me snarked. How many forty-two-centimeter-tall five-year-olds in cow-fashioned suits and afro hairstyles did I know?

He shouted something in Italian starting with "_Il Grande Lambo_!" (one guess to what that could mean, gee whiz) and Yasada and I stared at him dully.

"That's not your son." She pointed out the obvious, inconspicuously taking the round parcel and tossing it beneath her desk. It landed with a small thunk and clunked against the desk's front.

I straightened up and held out a hand, pursing my lips tightly. "Thank you. Obviously."

He saw the hand—a universal sign for 'stop'—and faltered mid-declaration. I put down the hand and stonily stared at him.

The anime version of him was adorable, no arguments there. In real life he was, too, in a way, but mostly he appeared ridiculous. Lambo Bovino stood maybe twenty feet away from me, give or take, in a cow-print jumpsuit and wearing the biggest, curliest afro I had ever seen.

"Hello." I began slowly, having finished my cursory examination of his character. I walked over and bent over in front of him, bracing my hands on my knees. He looked up at me with wide eyes. "Little man, do you speak Japanese?" I spread a soft smile on my face.

He continued looking up at me with little to no comprehension.

My smile wobbled. Wasn't he able to communicate reasonably well in the manga and in the anime? Don't tell me reality pulled a couple of strings and decided to plant a language barrier (of all things!) between us!

"My husband and I conceived Tsunayoshi on the kitchen table." I tried. Somewhere behind me, Yasada choked on her own spit.

Lambo uncomfortably looked away after another long staring contest. He mumbled something (there goes the "_Il Grande Lambo_" phrase again) and tried to look past me and at Yasada.

She smiled at him crookedly. He made a face and exclaimed dispassionately (and in a really unnecessarily loud volume), "_Sei molto brutta_!"

I tapped him on the shoulder. "Why do I have a feeling that the brat said something rude?" Yasada asked, but I shook my head at her and waved my hand under Lambo's nose to get his attention. How old was he again? Seven? Five?

"Nana." I said, pointing at myself.

He scrunched up his nose and went all cross-eyed at my fingers. "_Nonna_?" He repeated, confused.

I opened my mouth and syllabified patiently. "Na-na." Then I pointed at him.

He appeared confused for a moment, before it clicked. "_Il Grande Lambo_!" He passionately yelled into my face, saliva flying, adding a load of more babble I didn't know how to translate. He gesticulated animatedly while chattering, beating a small fist on his chest repeatedly.

"That's great to know. It's nice to meet you, Lambo-kun." I offered my hand to shake, and he shook it clumsily.

After that, he tugged me towards Yasada, and brought out a crumpled hit list from his afro hair. Yasada's gray eyebrows shot up as he handed it over to her. My shrewdly narrowed gaze flickered between the piece of paper and his obnoxiously huge hair.

The old woman straightened the ilst with her wrinkled hands and showed it to me. The picture in the piece of paper was an infant in a suit and a fedora. The curling sideburns were pretty telling, despite the fact that the image was blurry.

"Well, I dunno how the brat found this place, but he obviously has connections." Yasada commented, plugging in her old computer and starting it up all over again. "I wonder how much he's worth. Lambo, did he say?"

"Mmhm." I hummed, taking the hit list and folding it neatly into two. "Mind if I take this?" I asked airily.

"What'll good will it give ya?" She snorted, rolling her eyes. "I'm not surprised ya don't recognize him—you're pretty oriental-based, aren't ya, Sawada-san? The man in the picture is, they claim, but I'm not too sure, the world's strongest hitman. He's called," she carefully pronounced his name in English, "_Re-born._ Birthed again."

She stopped and scratched her aged cheek. "What a rather dramatic name, nah?"

I gave her an ironic grin. "Yes." I agreed, snickering softly to myself. Distracting Lambo, who was unnervingly staring up at me with big, big, green eyes, I slipped the piece of paper into a bra-pocket. I made a note to take it out later and slip it where the bra-cups went in. Nobody was usually thorough enough to really rip open bras. "The kid Italian?" I asked, although I already knew the answer to that.

She slowly punched in some keywords. "Must be. I'm getting results from Bovino, but the Wileys have a Lambo, too. Basically that's about twenty-two thousand for the Bovino kid, and four-hundred seven thousand for the Wileys chap. Not worth the trouble. Keep 'im. I certainly ain't."

I nodded. "Alright. I should go." I brought out my wallet and brought out two-thousand yen. "This is for Perfection Planet, as well as your silence. The kid was never here."

She put the book in a brown paper bag and handed it to me cheerfully. "What kid?" She asked innocently.

I thanked her and turned to Lambo, who was picking his nose impatiently. I took his hand and brought out the spray of ethyl alcohol. "That's dirty. Don't do it in polite company." I chastised him, drying his hand with some tissues. "You're looking for Reborn, aren't you?" The Japanese accented version of the hitman's name was drawing confused looks from the tiny boy, so I pulled out another life's worth of memories and spoke, after a beat, in accent-less English. "_Reborn_?"

He perked up and nodded enthusiastically. "_Reborn_! _Reborn_!"

Where does a person begin to teach someone—especially a five-year-old Italian boy—Japanese?

I smiled kindly. "_Yes. Reborn. S__ì, sì, Reborn_." Was that "yes" for Spanish or Italian? Or both? I walked towards the door, and turned around, expectantly looking at him. Dora the Explorer was Spanish, right? Or was she Mexican?

"_Reborn_," I said again.

"_Reborn_!" He repeated determinedly.

And that was how it went.

* * *

I remembered that Tsuna and I were supposed to meet in Magic Bookstore halfway back home, just as both Lambo and I were about to cross a pedestrian lane. A white truck painted a large, ugly, and flamboyant 72 sped past at break neck speed, ignoring the police officer's shrill whistle, a few moments before the commuters' crossing signs flicked green.

A business man almost barreled into Lambo because I had frozen mid-step. The middle-aged man swerved aside at the last second and gave me a reprimanding stare, and I apologized quietly, backtracking a few steps, dragging the annoyed little Italian with me.

Ah, talk about a Kim Kardashian moment!

"Stupid!" I cursed, pulling out my phone from my pocket. I flipped it open, unlocked it after typing the password, and blanched. Ten missed calls. The last one I had missed about fifteen minutes ago. I checked the profiles, and swore again when I saw that I had, at some point in the past, set it on vibrate.

Tsuna was going to be so mad. And I hated dealing with irritated adolescents.

I mildly put a hand on top of Lambo's wild afro, giving him a reprimanding stare so that he would keep still (which of course he disobeyed, thrumming with energy and heatedly whispering in Italian, bouncing in place and clutching on my leg, and goodness, I had forgotten how five-year-olds were always filled with the inexplicable need to _move_!

A pang of nostalgia hit me, and I fondly smiled down at his little head. He only reached just below my hips, and I was capable of lifting him up and perching him on my hips if I wanted to. Tsunayoshi had been like him just a few years ago.

Time flies with swift wings.)

I made a curious noise when my fingers sunk into the afro's thick tresses, which I figured compromised some sort of expandable malletspace full of only who-knows-what, but patted his cheeks to catch his attention. Lambo turned those green eyes up at me, still babbling Italian, and a fraction of my core-Nadeshiko shrieked as it melted into a delirious puddle.

I inclined my head, and waited for him to finish. When he wrapped up whatever he was saying, I nodded as if agreeing, and gently steered him away from the footwalk. "We have to go back." I told him, just for the sake of it even though I knew very well he couldn't understand a word I was saying. "My son's in the bookshop. I'd call him back if I could, but I don't have load."

Lambo made a pinched expression, screwing up his chubby little face, and I cooed, smoothing over his forehead. I tapped his nose and let out another embarrassing mindless warble, softly murmuring nothings as my fingers explored the dainty tweak of his nose and the curve of his chin.

He irately bit at my hand, little teeth digging into my palm, and I laughed, giving in to the call. I swooped down and lifted him up. He squealed, small hands wrapping around my neck so tightly I choked for a second, but I adjusted my grip on him and trekked back the way we came. The little boy was heavy, but I had flipped grown men on their backs. His weight was almost a comfort.

If I showed Lambo to Tsuna, he'd understand why I was otherwise distracted.

"Okaa-san, the little boy's so cute! Hahi!"

I smiled to myself and continued on walking, but then took a double take when I caught sight of whom I thought was Miura Haru from the animated series. The round face and the hairstyle was all that clued me in, which was pretty generic, but the iconic laugh settled it for me. Looking back, I found a pair of women—one my age, and the other around Tsuna's—squinting up at me from the downhill slope of the road.

The older woman's eyes widened, and her face lit up. Mine shuttered into a passive lack of recognition. "Nadeshiko!" She called, waving a hand. My mouth trembled, torn between twisting into a polite smile or a dark frown. Lambo dug his moon-shaped nails into my throat, and I huffed at his skin. He frowned. I raised a challenging eyebrow.

The woman shoved her shopping bags into the young girl's arms—and it was Miura Haru, upon a longer inspection—and jogged towards me, gesticulating animatedly. I shrugged my shoulders to show that my arms were occupied, explaining my lack of frantic hand-waving, too.

(Who was she? I felt a little mortified that I couldn't remember her—but she knew my real name.)

"Hi! It's been a while! I haven't seen you since third year!" She chuckled, stopping to catch her breath. The woman tucked loose strands of dark hair behind her ear and give me a precursory once-over, smile never faltering. "Wow! You hardly aged a day! Are you married now? Is that your kid? He's adorable!"

"No, I'm just taking care of him for a family friend," I lied, adopting a sheepish-gossipy tone of voice to hide the fact that I couldn't match a name to the woman's beautiful face no matter how hard I tried. "But yes, I'm married. I have a son, actually, in middle school. He's in the bookstore a couple of blocks away."

"He inherited your bookish personality, then?" The woman guffawed, looking like realizing that tidbit was like winning the lottery. If I tried, I could even pretend that I was talking to a teenager instead of a woman in her thirties. "That's so cute! I remember that you were always walking around with a book in front of your face. My daughter's pretty much the same, except it's with her phone. Kids, you know?" She scoffed, and I nodded along, adding a small, "What can you do?" quirk of the eyebrows.

"Tanaka Nadeshiko, right?" She asked loudly, confirming my identity, as if she wanted to be certain.

I shushed her. She gave me a weird, startled look, and I added pleasantly, "Sawada Nana, actually. My husband's part Italian, so he can't pronounce my name right. It's how I was referred to for a long time that I only respond to Nana." I pretended to grin sheepishly.

"Wow! How lucky! An Italian!" she gushed, flapping a manicured hand. She twisted around and waved her daughter over. "Haru-chan! Haru-chan! Come here! It's your Aunt Nana! We were classmates in middle school!"

Excuse you. I don't remember being asked to be the aunt of anything.

"_Nonna, andiamo_," Lambo was whining impatiently, tugging at my blouse. I nipped at his elbow warningly, and he grumbled, twisting and wriggling like he wanted to escape.

I tittered at the young Haru as she uncomfortably looked around before groaning and obeying her mother's commands. She staggered over towards us and bowed to me. "Good afternoon! I am Miura Haru." She exclaimed, almost toppling over at the weight of their shopping bags. The bags contained what couldv'e been a lake of shiny fabric, and I averted my eyes from the shimmering cloth.

She paused for the customary two seconds, before straightening and curiously staring at Lambo, who was blabbering Italian into my right ear.

"Is he your baby?" She asked.

I glanced at Lambo questioningly. Did he look like a baby?

"No," I denied bemusedly. "He's a family friend's child. Miura-san-"

"Oh, please," the mother giggled. "Call me Tomoyo!"

Bingo. Miura Tomoyo. Did I know any Tomoyo? Were there any Tomoyos from middle school? There were two, I believe. What the heck. What is my luck.

* * *

So, how did it end up like this?

"It's nice to meet you, Tsunayoshi-san! I am Miura Haru! Our mothers were friends during middle school!" Haru greeted brightly, bowing to Tsuna. She peeked at him shyly through thick lashes and offered a sheepish, what-the-heck-hi grin.

Tsuna's face glowed a fierce red. My gaze was forcefully blank as I compared my son to mercury-reliant thermometers—the resemblance was uncanny. I could see the blood rush from below his neck and up 'til the roots of his hair. Maybe I had mated with the device instead of Iemitsu.

Aha, so never mind that you were mad at your mother to begin with. Never mind that she has, somehow, found an Italian child and is asking to keep it. What obviously mattered was the pretty girl. Aha, aha, aha.

I felt a little disgruntled at the sight and, like I was imploring him to do something about it, instead soulfully stared at Hayato. Upon inspection, I saw that he was critically examining the girl like she was some sort of single-celled specimen under an electron microscope.

I was curious where he came from in the first place. When I had arrived, both a female middle-schooler and a little cow-boy in tow, he and Tsuna were already speaking to each other in low tones, leaning against the brick walls of a restaurant. I had entertained the thought of them being on a date. The thought died as quickly as Tsuna began directing doe-eyes (_my_ doe-eyes) at the girl.

"Good afternoon, Hayato-kun. How are you?" I asked, shifting the grumbling Lambo. He was a little cranky, having spent the majority of the walk back to the bookshop being fawned at.

The teenager's scrutinizing look melted into one of pleasant adoration. "I am well, Sawada-oba-san." He answered promptly, rocking back and forth unsteadily. "And good afternoon to you, too. Who's that you have there?" His green eyes were calculative.

"His name is Lambo. He wandered into the shop earlier, and can't speak Japanese. I'm trying to help him." I explained as shortly as possible, bouncing Lambo in my arms. He snorted and dug his knee into my stomach, muttering. Winded, I released a breathless laugh and waved away the silverette's quiet panic as he wrestled with himself about taking the young boy from me.

"It's alright. I'm used to fussy." I reassured him, shaking my head. I took another glance at Haru and Tsuna. The two were looking at a picture in Haru's phone. I felt a pang of displeasure throb in my chest, and against my will, caught myself glancing at Hayato imploringly once more. The boy fortunately didn't notice all my pointed looks.

Oh my God. Was I turning into one of those terror moms from soap operas? I didn't want to hold Tsuna back from any romantic relationships nor tell him whom to love.

Irked, I herded the three teenagers to one of the restaurant's tables and passed some money along to Hayato. "Buy yourselves some dessert. I have to go somewhere." I held up a hand to stop the half-hearted from Tsuna's part of the table. "I'll be back soon, I promise." I promised. "I'm just going to drop him off the orphanage, and talk to the person in charge, okay?"

I began to leave when Lambo made a sharp, hooting noise and pointed at something in the distance. I craned my head and found myself staring at Reborn in surprise.

The hitman stared back at me blankly, and a split second later, his gaze fell on Lambo. His face hardly twitched.

Lambo released a triumphant crowing sound and began to struggle out of my arms, while I did the exact opposite of what he wanted and hindered him, holding him tighter and nipping at his fingers to keep him from pushing himself away. Finally, annoyed with me, he reached into his afro.

I already knew what he had in there, what he kept inside—beneath, within, among—those curly locks, but the sight of a three-feet-long bazooka emerging from a puffy tangle of hair still got a reaction out of me. My eyes grew impossibly wide, and distantly I heard Tsuna yelling, but instinct won over, and I dropped Lambo.

(It was a little cold of me, but give me a break.)

He slid out of my arms just as quickly as the bazooka did out of his pudgy little fingers, and while I lurched to the side to dodge the weapon, its—well, whatever ammunition it spat out grazed my leg, and exploded into a small mushroom of pink smoke, engulfing everything within a foot of me.

Cold began to spread from my ankle, and it rushed to everywhere else, reaching the very tips of my fingers and my toes. The feeling gripped me, squeezing me tight, and I lost my breath.

That was all there was to it before my surroundings contorted and twisted, and suddenly I stumbled into a pruned bush and fell onto someone's lap, spilling somewhat lukewarm tea over the back of my expensive blouse. The delicate teacup clattered against the garden floor, and I squealed as I stepped on it. It shattered beneath my sandals.

Just like my hopes and dreams.

Because how was I supposed to keep on acting ignorant without looking stupid after this?!


End file.
